


Destinies Entwined

by sleepylotus



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-13 15:02:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7980874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepylotus/pseuds/sleepylotus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ruined by a pirate and a hurricane, former Commodore James Norrington lays in wait on Tortuga with one last objective: kill Jack Sparrow. But when Elizabeth Swann arrives on the scene, a fugitive from justice and recently parted from her fiancé, James cannot help but offer her his aid. Norribeth. COMPLETE!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I. It Wasn't A Boy At All

_“Our destinies have been entwined, Elizabeth, but never joined.”_ – _James Norrington, AWE_

 

# I.

 

_Timothy Brunswick, Boatswain_

_Matthew Tenwith, Sailing Master_

_George Hardy, Gunner’s Mate_

_Samuel Riggs, Carpenter_

_Peter Crowley, Master at Arms_

On and on the list went, though James Norrington feared it grew shorter and shorter every day in his memory. Eight hundred souls lost their lives when the Dauntless succumbed to a hurricane and her Captain’s obsession with catching a certain pirate.

This night he sat on a low wall, watching the crowd of the thoroughfare of Tortuga as he nursed a bottle of rum. Someday he hoped to spot that certain pirate in the crowd. Until then he bided his time, drank too much, and fought to remember the names of all the good men he’d killed. He owed them, at the very least, the honor of his memory.

_Paul Worstworth, Second Lieutenant._

_Hamish Grunsby, Sergeant of Marines._

A high scream in the distance interrupted his train of thought, though such a sound was nothing new in Tortuga. Once upon a time such a thing may have sent James running with sword drawn, but that man was long dead, scuttled by a hurricane, sunk to the bottom of the ocean with the Dauntless and the brave men who had counted upon him to see them through danger, God rest their souls.

 _This_ Norrington was a ghost. A shade, a specter, a shadow of the man he used to be. No longer a Commodore, a Commander, or even an officer. Hardly even a _man_ , by his reckoning, though one last purpose on this earth kept him from pressing a flintlock to his head and pulling the trigger.

Jack Sparrow.

He would see that blackguard dead if it was the last thing he ever did. He owed that to his boys, the honored dead, the dear fools who’d had faith enough to follow his orders right into the black mouth of a howling maelstrom. And then?

 _And then_ hardly mattered. He could never go home.

_Elijah Quigly, Surgeon._

_Benjamin Yates, Cook._

_Lucas Granger, Quartermaster._

Again, a scream interrupted his thoughts, and James met it with annoyance, taking a pull at his bottle. And yet…through the rum-induced haze there was a certain _quality_ to the loudly protesting voice across the thoroughfare that sounded _so_ familiar. Something that echoed through the now empty halls of his soul. It called to that man he’d once been, the man he’d buried so deep inside. A man who had once dared love a woman, and had been so foolish to hope she could possibly love him in return.

Though he didn’t particularly recall giving the order, his feet had begun moving towards the high pitched sounds. Ah, but discipline had fallen rather lax on this vessel as of late.

There was fear in that raised voice, and also fury. Moving through the crowd, he could see a lad tangling with two rowdy tars, emphatically protesting their hands upon him. “Lookee, me hearties! This pretty boy ‘as some fire innim. Ever seen a finer mouth on a lad?”

There was the sound of steel grating on a scabbard.

“I advise you to remove your hand, sir, unless you would care to lose it!”

The ruffians only responded with a laugh, and inwardly James sighed with resignation.

He would know _that_ voice anywhere, no matter how deep into a bottle he’d fallen.

“It appears you gents have found a friend of mine,” he said calmly, pushing through the gathered crowd. “I will have him back now.”

Instinctively, the onlookers backed away from the newcomer, a tall man dressed in dark clothing with a rather menacing sword at his hip. He seemed to carry a cloud of death about him, green eyes glinting hard as steel beneath unruly dark brows. On Tortuga you learned to spot this type at ten paces, and steer clear if you wished to keep your throat in one piece.

The rowdy drunks with a penchant for boys, however, were not so savvy. “He’s our _friend_ now,” said the bigger one, sticking a meaty finger in James’ chest, poking hard. “So bugger off, mate, an’ find your own piece o’ meat.”

A small, acerbic half-smile pulled at James’ lips. In the time it took to blink an eye his cutlass left his scabbard, a flash of silver in the night. It took two seconds more for the man to realize he’d just lost his hand, the appendage laying in an expanding puddle of blood at their feet.

Bully boy howled, and James quickly advanced on the next lout, introducing the pirate’s face to his fist. The man crumpled, and James grabbed _the boy_ about the arm, urging him to run.

Of course, it wasn’t a boy at all.

They wove through the labyrinthine streets, before coming to stop in a particularly putrid but thankfully unoccupied alley.

“What the bloody hell are _you_ doing here?” James demanded, grasping his charge by the shoulders and shaking her, none too gently. Adrenaline from the battle still roared through his veins, his pulse beating a wild tattoo in his ears. “Where is Turner? I swear, if that damnable boy has dragged you off to a life of piracy I will flay him with my own two hands!”

“James?!” Miss Elizabeth Swann seemed impervious to his bewildered rage, his manhandling, and his heated questions, staring up at him with wide-eyed disbelief. “My God! We all thought you dead!”

A moment later the enraged former Commodore found himself with the inexplicable attachment of a Governor’s daughter wrapped tightly about his neck. Immediately something softened within him, the anger receding to a whisper like the outgoing tide sliding from the sand. He was so surprised by her outburst he had to brace himself with one arm against the wall, the other wrapped about her willowy waist.

Even in boys’ clothing, she cut a comely figure.

How did she think to even pass at all?

“I _should_ be dead,” he ground out, resting his bowed head upon her shoulder. A mercy he did not deserve, much less did he ever even _dream_ to enjoy.

“How can you say that?” She drew back to regard him, a hand upon his bearded cheek. His dark hair was long and pulled back in a simple queue, some of it come loose in the fray. His green eyes gleamed in the shadows of the alley, sharp and a little wild. “What _happened_ to you?”

There was a sound down the alley, and the former Commodore’s instincts for survival flared up again. “Not here,” he said quietly, taking her hand in his. He tugged her to follow him, and Elizabeth went without a peep of protest, surprisingly grateful for the security of his strong hand in hers.

James led her through several side streets and across the main thoroughfare again, before climbing the side stairs of a tavern called the Mermaid’s Arms. With use of a key he entered the room above, and after a suspicious glance around barred the door after them.

He lit a lamp, and Elizabeth surveyed their surroundings. The space itself was surprisingly grand, a throwback of a more prosperous time upon the island. All high ceilings and tall windows, though the pastel plaster walls crumbled in the tropical heat. The seemed all the larger by its lack of furnishings, boasting only one chair, a miniscule table, a washstand with one driftwood leg, and a small bed.

Before Elizabeth could beat him to the chase, James demanded, “What the devil has brought you _here_?”

Elizabeth was momentarily taken aback by his brusque manner, but then she supposed after cutting off a man’s hand she too would be a bit out of sorts. “I… _Oh James.”_ The rest flooded out in one long sentence. “Port Royal has gone to Hell since you left and I was arrested for piracy and Lord Beckett is hanging _everybody_ who even looks at him askance—I barely escaped and now I must find Will!”

James took all this in with eyebrows raised high, an incredulous expression on his face. “You were _arrested_?”

Last he checked, _fainting_ at a hanging was not an executable crime, which really was all she’d truly done. Turner was mostly to blame for Sparrow’s escape.

And _himself_ , of course.

“Yes. I was thrown in gaol like a common criminal! Will too! But my father thought he could call on his connections in London, if he had my hand to barter in the deal.” She paused, contemplating how to word the next part of her tale, a pained expression come over her features. When she regained her composure she went on, “He and Will conspired behind my back, and Will released me from our promise before tearing off after Jack, because Jack has something Lord Beckett wants desperately. My father was detained as we tried to flee to London, and I escaped in the cargo hold of a merchant ship, so I came here, hoping to find Will, or even Jack…” Her last sentence came in a flurry, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle an inconvenient outpour of emotion. She took a deep breath, steeling herself once more. “And instead I have found you, James Norrington, so the day has not been a _total_ loss.”

The small spark of pride James felt at hearing the last was a damnable thing, and suddenly he felt _exhausted._

He knew he was not a man someone should put their faith in, anymore.

James sighed heavily, scrubbing his face with his hands. When one came away stained red he shook his head with disgust, crossing to the washstand. Looking at himself in a tiny sliver of glass that had once been a mirror, he endeavored to wash away the splatter of blood upon his cheek.

“Here, let me,” said Elizabeth, taking the cloth from his hands. When her fingers brushed his he felt his resolve melt, and he relinquished the rag without a fight. Carefully she daubed away the blood, thankful that none of it seemed to belong to James. He closed his eyes, enchanted by the kindness of her ministrations, another boon he knew he did not deserve. “Perhaps we may restart with a heartfelt _thank you._ You were brilliant.”

Elizabeth had never really seen James in action in a battle. She’d been on the Pearl when he’d fought the skeleton pirates. The memory of how quickly he’d felled those villains on her behalf was surprisingly titillating, and she scorned herself for a ridiculous little fool.

_As if he would have you now._

The thought of what exactly he’d saved her from made James’ stomach turn. It was bad enough to be a pretty lad, but once they’d realized they had a beautiful _woman_ in their grasp?

His blood ran cold.

When he could stand her touch no longer, for it ignited something _troublesome_ deep in his belly, James caught her wrist, tossing the rag back into the wash station. “I’m not sure _brilliant_ is the word I would associate with relieving a man of his hand, but then I suppose it was just punishment for laying it upon you, my lady,” he drawled, his flat tone hiding the churning in his belly. After all this time, the thought of anyone laying hands on her filled him with… _too much_.

Too much to bear.

James cleared his throat, praying she could not see through his thin disguise of civility. “Would you care to sit?” Slowly, his old manners returned to him, at least what little the present circumstances allowed.

Though she regarded the single chair rather dubiously, Elizabeth took him up on his offer, gingerly lowering herself down into the seat. When it did not immediately buckle under her weight she relaxed a little, removing her hat and hanging it upon the spindle of the back of the chair.

James shook his head to himself once more at the sight of her bare-headed. It seemed her beauty _still_ had the power to hit him like a lead ball to the chest. _How_ could _anyone_ mistake her for a boy, it was beyond him.

James removed his baldric and coat, but made sure to keep the sword and his pistol within reach. It was a rule for survival here on Tortuga to always be armed.

Despite all the harrowing details of Elizabeth’s tale, one sentence kept playing over and over in James’ head. _Will released me from our promise…_

The former Commodore sighed, attempting to shake himself from it. _Don’t be bloody stupid,_ he reminded himself. _You haven’t a thing to offer her now._

“I am very sorry to hear of your misfortune,” he managed, sitting down upon the bed. “I myself wouldn’t mind finding Jack Sparrow in this port.”

Elizabeth looked up from studying the floor. “What for? What _happened_ , James?”

James ground his teeth, looking out the window. _Jack Sparrow happened._ By his reckoning, James had lost _everything_ because of that flea-bitten blackguard. Everything went to hell the minute the pirate pulled Elizabeth from the harbor, the day James asked her to be his wife. James had lost his crew, his ship, his commission, even his fiancée, all due to Jack Sparrow’s meddling.

He should have been the one to save her. He would have, had his men not pulled him back. Or perhaps he would have dashed himself on the rocks, and spared himself and his men all this…

“Jack Sparrow led us on a merry chase right into a hurricane,” said James quietly, hanging his head. “I fear I was the only survivor.”

Elizabeth gasped, her eyes suddenly wide and wet. “Oh James. That is positively awful…”

A very sick dread worked its way through her insides, weighing like a poison stone in her belly. She’d had more than something to do with Jack Sparrow’s escape, and possibly even James’ state of mind as he doggedly chased after the pirate.

 _Possibly? You jilted him for a blacksmith in front of the **entire** city of Port Royal, _a little voice hissed in her ear. _He loved you, and you threw it back in his face like so much sand._

James hardly noticed as she stood, occupied with the memory of all those good men, the howling of the storm, and their screams as the ripping winds tore their vessel apart right out from under them. Elizabeth knelt before him, taking his hands in hers. “I am _so_ sorry,” she whispered, and though James had never known Elizabeth Swann to be sorry for _anything,_ this time he believed her. “If I could take it all back…”

The blood of how many men stained her hands, she wondered? The marines she’d sacrificed by omitting knowledge of the curse upon Barbossa’s pirates to save Will, and now a whole first rate full of souls lost to the sea, for the life of Jack Sparrow. And now Will had called off their marriage, and Jack Sparrow was nowhere to be found.

 _Clearly you chose wisely,_ she scolded herself. But she had been naught but a child on the cusp of womanhood then. Infatuated, spoiled, and bold. The past few months had thrown the world in a different light for her. No matter how she had resented her gilded cage, the world outside it was a dark and dangerous place. James Norrington had always endeavored so bravely to keep that darkness off the doorstep of Port Royal, and how _graciously_ she had thanked him for it.

James’ heart suddenly thundered in his chest. And _what_ exactly did she wish to take back? Surely she only meant her complacency in William’s scheme to free Jack Sparrow. The rest…he could not bear to hope.

It didn’t matter now, at any rate.

Though it was a comfort he knew he didn’t deserve, James dared kiss her hands in his. That was _vaguely_ proper, wasn’t it? “Thank you, Elizabeth. But I deserve neither your mercy nor your pity. I killed those men as surely as if I had shot them myself.”

The haggard pain in James’ voice cut Elizabeth like a knife, and she cradled his face in her hands. “Nothing could be farther from the truth, James. It was a horrible tragedy, but it wasn’t your fault.”

He laughed, a bitter sound that squeezed her heart painfully. Before she could feed him more pretty but useless consolations, he drew back. “You are kind, Elizabeth. Too kind.” He pressed his cheek to her hands, a tremor running down his arms. He deemed it wise to let her go, before he did something _completely_ ungentlemanly. James regarded her, and in his assessment he found her even more wan than usual. “Are you hungry?”

The change of subject took her aback. “I’m fine.” She did not want to impose upon him further than she already had.

He narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. “When last did you eat?”

Elizabeth had never been successful at concealing the information James sought when fixed with _that_ certain look, beginning from the time when he was a lieutenant and she was a little girl playing pranks aboard his ship.

“I stole an apple from a barrel in the hold of the ship I stowed away on, yesterday.”

“As I thought.” James rose, drawing Elizabeth to her feet. “Wait here. I’ll have some food brought.” He disappeared out the door, presumably to go down to the tavern below.

 


	2. Only So Much A Man Can Take

Soon James returned, a serving girl behind him carrying two steaming bowls of what smelled like a stew. He gave her a copper and sent her on her way. As there was only one chair, they devised to pull the small table over to the bed.

“Surely you lost everything in the wreck, James? How have you lived?”

The first answer that came to mind was that he had _not_ lived, until laying eyes upon her face once more. But he realized what she referred to was coin _._ “I have not been an officer so long in the King’s Service that I am _completely_ useless in the world,” he jested. He had his ways, though he didn’t really relish the thought of telling Elizabeth he’d stolen his first stake from a drunken pirate on the quay, and multiplied his earnings through a fast hand at cards.

She laughed, a musical sound that was a balm to his soul. They ate the rest of their stew in companionable silence, and set the empty bowls by the door.

“James?”

Even after what felt like a lifetime away, his name on her lips still had the power to send his heart into a full gallop. “Yes?”

“Why are you _here._ Why didn’t you come home?”

“Empty handed, disgraced, and to watch you wed the blacksmith? There’s only so much a man can take, Elizabeth.”

She sighed, looking down at her feet once more. “Well…you could have watched us being marched off to gaol. That might have been amusing for you,” she attempted to jest.

“Hardly my idea of a good joke. And had I been there, I’m sure I would have been thrown into the cell right next to you for my own part in Sparrow’s escape. Justifiably so.”

A weak smile curled her lips. “Even better. Then you would have had a first row seat to watch Will call off our engagement through the bars of my cell. He didn’t even kiss me goodbye…” Tears welled in her eyes as she remembered that bittersweet moment, knowing he acted on noble impulse, and yet without even consulting her own wishes. She wrung her hands in her lap, feeling rather like a little girl again. “He gave me up so _easily_.”

It hurt James’ heart to see her in pain, even if she mourned the loss of his rival. She was his weakness, his Achilles heel, through and through. It seemed not much had changed after all. “You may take it on good authority, Miss Swann, that a man does not give you up _easily._ The boy has more pluck than I thought. He only did what he thought best, I am sure.”

The pain in James’ voice as he offered these words of conciliation pierced Elizabeth like a knife. So much time had passed, and yet he sounded as though he’d lost her just yesterday. Was it possible that James loved her, _still_? After everything she had done to him? After all he had lost? If he did, then she was certain she did not deserve his love, even less now than she had before.

Before she could apologize again or say something else of their painful past, James stood, picking up his baldric. “You must be exhausted, Elizabeth. I insist you take this room for the night. I will procure lodgings elsewhere.”

An expression of pure panic crossed her features. “Please don’t go!” James froze in his action of lifting his sword belt over his head, the desperation in her tone plucking at his deepest heartstrings. “I mean…” Elizabeth pressed her lips, clearly embarrassed by her outburst. But the truth was that she could hardly _remember_ what it was like to not feel like a hunted animal, constantly looking over her shoulder. “I feel safe with you. Please stay. And I couldn’t take your bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“I…could not abide that, my lady. It would be most improper.”

Elizabeth laughed, though there was no mirth in it. “I am fairly certain I witnessed you cut off a man’s hand for me tonight, James Norrington. I am a fugitive from justice, and you a man risen from the dead. We’re on a _pirate_ island, and I do believe propriety has flown the coop.”

He could not suppress a small if not sheepish smile. “Then what do you suggest?”

“The floor looks mighty uncomfortable, and I hardly think you will ravish me in my sleep, James. I believe we may share the bed without fear of scandal.”

James swallowed, _hard._ Carefully he warned, “You do know that would have been my fondest dream once upon a time, Elizabeth?”

“Surely significantly less so, after the ruin I have brought you,” she sighed, averting her eyes. Yet when she dared glance to the former Commodore from beneath her lashes, she caught James in a moment of unguarded emotion. In that brief flash she saw it _all;_ his love, his longing, _his loyalty,_ and her heart _clenched_. How was it possible? After all she had done to him? The heartbreak and embarrassment and devastation. How could a man be so loyal?

James knew he’d been caught with his true heart laid bare, and heavily he sighed, closing his eyes. He was a man who had always cloistered his emotions behind thick walls and locked doors, but now it seemed there was nowhere left to hide. “I wouldn’t count on it,” he admitted quietly.

“Oh James…”

The former Commodore cleared his throat, which was suddenly uncomfortably tight. Now that the effects of the battle had worn off it seemed he could do nothing but revert to his old self with Miss Swann, timid as a calf, eternally proper when all he wanted to do was grab her up and kiss her. “So perhaps you can imagine, Elizabeth, trusting your honor to me may not be in your best interest.”

He watched as her expression softened, and found he did not know what it meant. From years of close study he thought he knew her repertoire completely, but then, she’d never looked at him like _that_ before.

Elizabeth was feeling quite raw herself that night. Still smarting from Will’s rejection, a fugitive from British law, miles from everything and everyone she’d ever known, all alone on a dangerous outlaw island…James was a familiar boon, a safe harbor at last after all her trials. She couldn’t _stand_ to see him go now.

“I’ll risk it,” she answered quietly, rising from the bed. Flabbergasted, he watched as she removed her boots, stockings, and tunic, and let down her hair from its tightly bound queue. It fell around her like a burnished gold curtain, and James’ heart made a splendid attempt at beating right out of his chest. She lay down on the far side of the bed in her shirt and breeches, hugging a pillow, and James could do little more than stare in bewilderment.

How many times had he fantasized this very moment? Elizabeth awaiting him in bed, her hair undone and waving about her. Brazenly she watched him with large dark eyes, curious what he would do.

For a long moment James found himself utterly _incapable_ of movement. What luck was this? What _buggering_ luck. A torture most sweet. He didn’t know _how_ he could lay beside her and stand it. And yet how could he _not_? He didn’t _want_ to leave, truth be told. Despite its age, this was the most comfortable bed he’d found in Tortuga. He was tired, after all. He would fall right asleep, surely.

_Keep dreaming, old boy._

With a deep sigh and a shake of his head James began to divest himself of his own accoutrements, pausing when finally he reached his shirt. He didn’t like to sleep with it on, it was deuced _hot_ and the night breeze that came through the tall windows was small relief, and…he didn’t _want_ to. Elizabeth was here with him, and he wanted…perhaps he’d become a pirate after all. He certainly wasn’t a gentleman anymore, for all the good it had ever done him.

Rather fascinated, Elizabeth watched as James seemed to fight some war within himself, finally clasping the tails of his shirt and pulling it up over his head. What lay beneath pulled a delicate gasp from her throat. She _never_ imagined he could look like _that_ beneath his stodgy uniform and wig. Taut chiseled muscle, and _scars._ God, did he have scars.

As James lay down beside her she found herself reaching out to touch a particularly nasty slash across his pectoral, a little souvenir from a bout with a pirate some years ago. Her brow furrowed with concern. “Have you _always_ had these?” she asked, afraid that much of this damage had been inflicted in just his short time on Tortuga.

James gasped as her fingertips slid across his bare skin, and on instinct he grabbed her hand, afraid to let her touch him more, afraid of what _he_ would do. What he could gain, and what he could lose, all seemed equally damning at that moment. Finally he answered, “The worst are _here_ , I assure you,” pressing her hand over his heart.

In that moment she felt positively _wretched._ Somehow she knew that despite the loss of his men, the loss of his ship, his rank, his place in the world, _she_ had caused by far the worst wound to his heart. A wound, it seemed, that had not healed even a little in the time that had passed.

“Oh James. _I’m so sorry_. I was a child. A foolish child. I didn’t know…I couldn’t _imagine…”_

How much he’d loved her.

How truly precious that love had been.

How much _power_ she’d possessed over him, and how _wickedly_ she’d wielded it.

James dared to reach out to touch her hair, brushing a tendril back from her face. A face that could launch a thousand ships. Ten thousand. A flat million. _God damn it all but she was beautiful._ Even more so now that she was older. Somehow that first pure bloom of fair youth had matured into something even more enticing, like a wine improves with age.

By some miracle Elizabeth leaned in to his touch, and at last James found himself completely undone.

_One kiss._

Just one, for all his pain and trouble and suffering. The sleepless nights and long hours at sea spent thinking of the next time he might see her…surely she could forgive him for taking just _one_ kiss?

James cradled her face in his large hand, leaning down to press his lips to hers. He waited for the slap, the shove, the bitter admonishment— _instead_ , her mouth was soft and pliant beneath his, and he groaned as she opened her lips to him, the sliding touch of her tongue against his making him _blind_ with desire.

He _broke_.

The kiss became a wild and hungry thing, and a spectator might have thought he did not mean to kiss her so much as _devour_ her. Gladly she took his fury, his lust, his hunger, his pain. His hands travelled to her waist, the curve of her hip, her thigh, gripping her flesh so hard she knew there would be bruises.

She didn’t care.

She’d earned them, and she would withstand it all, as a rock in the sea takes the ferocity of the waves in a storm.

At last James pulled back to look at her, his bottle green eyes wild and searching. “ _God, Elizabeth._ I’m _sorry_ , I’m so sorry, I’ll go…”

His voice came husky with desire, _raw_ with wanting. His arm shook slightly as he held himself away from her, tremulous with excitement. Despite all this, he still would walk away if she wished it. Despite how _far_ he’d fallen, somehow he _still_ retained that much honor, _for her_.

She couldn’t bear to see him go now.

Her hands slipped around his neck, pulling him closer. “It’s alright, James,” she soothed, smoothing his rich brown hair away from his eyes. She would have given anything in that moment to chase that haggard pain from his stare.

“Please stay. I’m _so_ _happy_ you’re alive. _Stay_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I love your comments, they make me so happy! :)


	3. Care and Devotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James decides to stay, and both parties are glad for it. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this out sooner but it required an inordinate amount of tweaking! ha. So I hope you all like the result. :)

When she closed her eyes, craning her neck for another kiss James could not refuse her. This time he explored her mouth gently, and she sighed as slowly his weight settled upon her, pressing her down into the mattress. He was heavy, _deliciously_ heavy, and she happily wrapped one of her long legs to tangle with his own. She smiled against his mouth, ducking to nip upon his stubbled chin and jaw. When her lips touched his neck James closed his eyes, groaning with desire.

She would be the _death_ of him. He suddenly had _no_ doubt.

Elizabeth kissed him again, her tongue making sweet war with his own. His hand again wandered the curve of her waist and thigh, and sweeping up again over the flat of her belly. James stopped short just under her breast, fingertips _aching_ to stray just a little higher, to feel that soft mound of flesh beneath his palm. Without breaking their kiss Elizabeth clasped his hand, moving it to cover her bosom in wordless permission, keening with pleasure as his fingers instinctively plucked at her pebble-hard nipple. Her hips rolled against his, leaving very little doubt of what she felt with James on top of her.

“Don’t stop, James,” she whispered between kisses. “ _I want you_.”

_Those words._

Three little words he would have sold his _soul_ to hear, and _now_ here they were. Now, when he had lost everything and achieved nothing but the most magnificent ruin. _We make plans, and then God laughs_ , he thought. Well, the sorry git could laugh all the way into next Tuesday, for all he cared.

This night, this _one_ night, he would have her.

James dared not ask if she was sure, leaning down again to kiss her once more. His body trembled with excitement and anticipation. He felt her soften against him, her long legs twined with his as he plied her with kisses upon her jaw and neck and chest. Her reaction was utterly gratifying, so ridiculously sweet.

She was always sweet, his Elizabeth, even when she was cruel.

“This is not how I would have had you our first time,” he whispered against her skin. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I wanted to give you the best of everything…” He’d always thought there would be a grand house with a large soft bed and crisp white linens beneath them, not what _passed_ for suitable furniture in a crumbling room on a pirate island, making love out of wedlock.

Had someone told him this future but a year ago, he would have laughed them out of the room, or perhaps ordered them clapped in irons.

Elizabeth’s lips curled in a sad smile as she caressed his cheek. “I know, James. I’m sorry I ruined everything.”

James shook his head, brushing lips over hers. “You didn’t. It wasn’t your fault.”

And after all that had happened, he truly didn’t blame Elizabeth, no matter what part she’d played. He blamed _Jack Sparrow._

His lips trailed back down her swan’s neck, and Elizabeth sighed, her head rocking back in the pillow. She didn’t agree with James on the point of her innocence, knowing very well her own wicked heart and mind, but she didn’t exactly wish to argue as he pulled these _maddening_ sensations from her body. She’d never felt _anything_ like it.

It was she who pulled her shirt over her head, wanting to feel his skin against hers. With fumbling hands they worked together to free her of the linen wrappings that bound her breasts into some semblance of masculinity. When it was done she pulled him back against her, her lips hungry for his mouth and the solid weight of him again.

Wrapped up in his arms, surrounded by his large body…it was the first time she’d felt perfectly safe in God knew how long. She’d always wanted to have adventures, but she’d never accounted for the _fear_ that went along with the uncertainty and excitement. James was a welcome shelter from the storm, such an unexpected godsend that she could have cried.

Furthermore who knew that _James Norrington_ could be so…so…beautiful? She marveled as her hands slid over the contours of his back, finding planes of smooth muscle playing under her palms. She explored his arms and the ladder of his ribcage, dipping her fingers into the waistband of his breeches. A harsh word escaped him at the feel of her fingers _there,_ and she smiled against his lips, finding she was pleased to have undone him so.

He’d always been so restrained, so _proper._ Only now, divested of his uniform, his wig, after he’d lost _everything_ that had once defined him, could she truly see the real man beneath it all.

And she _wanted_ that man.

He’d asked her to marry him, and yet never _once_ had he looked at her the way he had just a minute ago, with such _raw_ adoration. She’d always thought he simply wanted to put her on the shelf of all his _fine_ achievements, pin her on his coat like a gold medal. If he’d dared show her such vulnerability before, perhaps…who knew?

It didn’t matter now, she reasoned. She’d burned that bridge to the ground. Now, this was what was left to them. And no matter his apologies for the setting or the circumstances, she rather thought it wasn’t so bad.

James tugged at the ties of her breeches, loosening them about her hips enough that he could slide his hand inside. Already she was soaking wet and he groaned as he dipped his fingers into that sweet warmth, moving his fingers in little circles in a way Elizabeth found _maddening._ She felt as though she might burn up from the inside out, or possibly explode—perhaps she _wanted_ to explode? She didn’t know, she couldn’t _think_ when he touched her like that…

James pressed one long finger inside of her, curious, light headed for her tight heat clenching around his digit. “This isn’t your first time,” he deduced, his voice tellingly neutral.

Elizabeth bit her lip, somehow suddenly ashamed, despite their current circumstances. After that night she will have lain out of wedlock with not just one man, but _two._ And of course James would be disappointed in her for that… “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes averted. “Will and I thought we were to be married, and it wouldn’t matter…But here we are.”

At seeing her shame James felt wretched, and regretted even mentioning it. “Don’ t be sorry,” he said immediately, brushing her lips with his. “Who am I to throw stones? I’m no blushing virgin either.”

The thought unexpectedly made her laugh, and like that the dark cloud around them seemed diffused. “It’s different though. You’re a man. And you’re much older than me.”

James frowned at that assessment. “I’m not _that_ much older,” he protested, narrowing his eyes playfully. He began to touch her again, and once more she seemed to melt into the pillow, biting her lip with pleasure as she moved her hips against his hand. “And, I might add, there is some advantage to a man with _experience_.” His tongue flicked across her nipple, sending the most incredible sensations jetting through her insides as he touched her.

Again, she laughed, a tenuous little giggle so filled with joy that James felt _dizzy._ This had to be a dream? The most wonderful dream he’d ever had of Elizabeth, but a dream all the same. Her laughter ended in a moan, and James felt his insides turn to molten lava.

“Yes. It’s never felt like _this_ before,” she confessed breathily, and James paused, frowning.

That stupid boy. That stupid _stupid_ boy, he thought to himself.

Elizabeth misinterpreted his sudden stillness. “James? Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” James assured her again, kissing her lips and jaw and neck. “Of course not, not at all.”

“Then what…?”

She watched with curiosity as he slid from the bed, going down on his knees before her, tugging her to face him. _Entirely fitting_ thought James. She ruled him more than she could possibly ever know. James pulled her breeches down her hips, leaving her bare before him. For a moment he paused to take in the glorious sight, her svelte curves and proud high breasts, and the dark downy triangle between her thighs. “ _God_ you are beautiful,” he rasped, his throat tight with desire. “Please tell me that young fool at least told you that?”

Elizabeth sensed the edge of anger in James’ words, but she realized not for her. “I….perhaps? I don’t remember. It was dark and it always happened so fast…”

James could not suppress his frown. _Care and devotion_ had been the stipulations with which James had relinquished Elizabeth’s hand to William Turner. It seemed the boy had paid her neither out of selfishness or pure ignorance. Probably more the latter than the former, but it still made him want to hunt the boy down and give him a proper flogging.

A thought occurred to James of another way in which the whelp may have neglected her, and why she may have taken such drastic measures to find her wayward ex-fiancé. “Are you with child?” he asked quietly, touching her abdomen with a hand that spanned her entire belly.

“No...”

“You are certain?”

Impatience entered her voice as she answered, “ _Yes_ , I’ve bled since…” She colored a little, discussing such things with _James Norrington._ “Must we _really_ speak of this?”

James drew her into another kiss, and felt the tension melt from her once more. “I promise I’ll be careful with you.” Elizabeth didn’t exactly understand what he meant by that, but as his mouth trailed down her neck and chest her mind fogged, and she took him for his word. She knew she would let him do _anything_ he wanted with her that night.

His mouth trailed down, pausing to suckle at her pretty little breasts in a way that made her arch against him. “ _Oh James…”_

It was possible those two words together might become his favorite in the entire English language.

“Lay back, sweetheart.” His voice was thick with lust against her bare belly, sending a shiver down her spine. She’d never imagined such a side of James could exist, and she decided that she liked it immensely. She did as she was told, holding her breath as he nestled his broad shoulders between her legs, his long arms sliding under her. With his lips on her inner thigh she had an inkling of what he meant to do, but she never could have imagined the pure _bliss_ that was his mouth upon her center.

She cried out as his tongue circled her flesh, teasing and lapping at that sensitive bud between her legs. It almost felt _too_ good to stand, and she might have squirmed away had he not cupped her buttocks in his large hands, holding her to him. When he slipped a thumb inside her entrance she strained against him, wanting _more._ Her body seemed to know this dance, even if the rest of her was happily mystified, curious and _ravenous_ for his touch.

As he licked and suckled she made the most intoxicating little sounds of pleasure, her hands fisting in the sheets and his hair, _anything_ to hold on to while he brought her to such great heights with his lips and tongue… Then it all crashed down in a flood of blinding release, and Elizabeth _screamed,_ arching up with the fury of the pleasure that speared through her.

Smiling against her skin, James did not let up until she _begged_ for mercy, scrabbling to pull him up to her once more. She tasted herself on his mouth when she kissed him, and found it surprisingly titillating. “Oh God, that was… _very naughty_ , James Norrington. What did you _do_ to me?”

 _What any man with half a brain and a naked Elizabeth in his arms would do_ he thought, but did not say it. Instead he smiled, a genuine smile that set her heart ablaze. “That _pleasure_ is the whole point of passion between a man and a woman,” he told her. “It should be mutual.”

Elizabeth bit her lip, unable to stop herself from comparing James’ careful exacting touch to the frenzied pawing that had been her coupling with Will in the smithy. She touched James’ face tenderly, smoothing one of his dark eyebrows, and his eyes fluttered closed under her gentle fingers. “I think most men would disagree with you.” She thought upon what she'd been told to expect of her conjugal duties, and added, "And most women too."

James knew it was true. He did not understand the disdain for the fairer sex society clung to. “Perhaps. However, it doesn’t make me _wrong_.”

Elizabeth chuckled in agreement, kissing him once more. “I think it’s your turn,” she whispered, her voice low and thick as honey. That alone was enough to make his cock throb with wanting, dying to be buried inside her moist heat.

Now mightily curious, she thought that maybe she might try to return the favor with her mouth, but James had her in his arms before she could blink, lifting her to the center of the bed. She watched him remove his breeches with wide dark eyes, feeling bold for watching so brazenly and loving it anyway. How silly that she was no longer an innocent and yet she had never _seen_ a naked man before. Despite her protests Will had always insisted on conducting their liaisons in the pitch dark. Elizabeth’s lips parted as she surveyed him, blushing and yet unable to look away.

He was beautiful, and she could have looked for _much_ longer, but James lost no time in rejoining her on the bed, nestling his body between her thighs. She could feel the hard length of him pressed against her, taut and warm and smooth as silk. “Do you still want this?” he asked, rubbing the head of his cock against her soaking wet slit, making her squirm with pleasure.

She reached down to explore him, sighing with anticipation as she took measure of him in her palm. A small strangled sound escaped him when she squeezed a little, making her smile.

“ _Yes_ ,” she panted, angling her hips towards him, placing him at her entrance.

James groaned, pleased to have incited such passion in her.

_Pleased._

He was in _heaven,_ and he didn’t know how he would ever give her up now. His manhood throbbed almost _painfully_ with desire, hard as heart of oak. How on earth would he manage to last? She drove him to madness with just a look, much less… She hooked one long leg over his hip, urging him on. “ _Please_? _I need you_ , _James._ ” Despite what he’d done to her, something still felt undeniably _empty_ inside, and _ached_ for him to fill her.

Her words wove a spell about his heart, and in that moment he knew he would never be free of her. Maybe once he’d wished for some respite of his affections, some _mercy_ for his battered soul _,_ but now he didn’t _want_ to ever be free, even if tonight was all they would ever have.

Slowly he slid inside of her, filling her to the hilt with one long smooth stroke.

“Oh _God_ ,” she sighed, her head rocking back into the pillow. For a moment James feared he’d hurt her, until her lips curled in a little smile, her eyelids heavy with desire. “Don’t stop,” she urged him. “I’ve never felt _anything_ like this before, _please_ don’t stop.”

Neither had he, truth be told.

Filled with pride and love and a dozen other emotions that left him nearly overwhelmed, he began to move, taking her with slow deep strokes that kindled that fire in her loins once more. She rolled her hips to meet his, and gradually they found a rhythm between them, a steady motion like the waves that soon sent Elizabeth to pieces beneath him. She clung to him, crying out, “ _James_!” His name upon her lips in that way, _oh in that way,_ and the feeling of her tight little channel clenching upon him sent James over the edge. Only by some miracle did he manage to withdraw in time, spilling himself upon her belly with a trembling groan.

They lay in supine bliss for what felt like hours, but might have been minutes, before James lifted himself up once more. “Oh, Elizabeth.” It was all he could manage to say, pressing a kiss to her forehead beaded with sweat. He wished he could call her _my Elizabeth,_ but knew it wasn’t true, even after _that_.

“Did I please you?” she asked in a small voice, and he almost laughed at the thought that she possibly _wouldn’t_.

“You are more woman than I _ever_ could have dreamed. If I did not know your father, I would swear you were born of sea foam.”

She laughed a little at that, rolling her eyes. “Now _that’s_ a bit much, _flatterer_.”

When he left the bed she felt _unbearably_ cold, but before she could protest he returned with a damp rag to wipe his seed from her belly.

Only then did it occur to her that that was what he’d meant when he promised to be careful with her. There would be no worry of a child, no further burden to carry with her. Just a gift of warmth, and pleasure, and _love_.

She now had _no doubt_ that James Norrington loved her.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, winning a sad little smile.

“In a different life, perhaps,” he said mournfully. Once children had been something he’d wanted with Elizabeth, _so very much_. Now? It would have been impossibly irresponsible.

She heard the note of regret in his words, and she held out her arms to him, inviting him back to bed. Gladly he joined her, sprawling on his side and pulling her into the circle of his arms, a protective hand cradling the back of her head. She nestled into the bend of his throat, inhaling deeply of his masculine scent. He smelled of sweat and salt, sex and something that was just _James,_ and she found it perfectly intoxicating.

Elizabeth kissed him, gentle and sweet, and he felt himself melting all over again. “I never thought you could be so…” She stopped herself from finishing her thought, and James stiffened a little, fearing what she had to say.

“You can tell me,” he urged, even as he knew he probably didn’t _want_ to know how she had perceived him.

But Elizabeth just shook her head against his chest. “It doesn’t matter. I was wrong. I was wrong about _everything_ , James. I’m so sorry.”

Not quite sure what to make of _that,_ weary and far too tired to dissect her words now, he kissed her hair and bid her, “Shhh. It’s alright.”

But he felt her body tremble, and knew she cried quietly against his chest. If she had not pulled him closer desperately, tangling her legs with his, he would have joined her, fearing she regretted loving him, even if just for a night.


	4. That Marvelous  Trick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Elizabeth continue their explorations of the past, and each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who's been following along so far, and of course especially for your kind comments, you make me do goofy happy dances that no adult has any business doing. :D 
> 
> And it occurs to me from a previous comment, do I need to put a disclaimer about the contraception methods used in this fic? lol. If so, FYI, pulling out isn't the most reliable method. Take this in the context of the time period in which birth control was pretty much nonexistent. James gets points for consideration tho... All else written here I stand by 100 percent. ;)

James woke before Elizabeth, and could not help but take the time to study her supine form beside him. Her golden hair lay tousled across the pillow, her comely features resembling an angel at rest. She was _no_ angel, he knew, and yet he did not have it in himself to hold what had happened against her.

Not too much, at any rate.

Indeed, it seemed silly to hold a child accountable for the actions of a grown man, an experienced sea captain, and a decorated officer. And he realized now, seeing how she had changed, that her assessment had been correct. She’d been a child on the cusp of womanhood, bright as the sun. He’d been so blinded in his bid to make her his own that he hadn’t given a single thought to the fact that perhaps she was not _ready_ for such responsibilities.

Wife, mother, mistress of household.

It was no wonder she fell from the battlements.

Or perhaps she’d _leapt_.

Coward that he was, he didn’t really want to know.

Yet the irony did not escape him that as he wallowed in ruin here on this wretched island, finally he had been able to win her. A respectable gentleman—an officer, a _Commodore_ , held no interest to this one. Now that he had _nothing_ , she’d looked upon him with desire shining in her eyes, and given herself to him completely in the course of little more than an _hour_.

Well, a very _exciting_ hour, he reasoned. He’d saved her from those ruffians, and he supposed there’s nothing like a daring rescue to send a woman’s heart aflutter, and Elizabeth in particular thrived on a good adventure. And though saving Elizabeth Swann was no new thing for James Norrington, before he’d had two warships and a battalion of Marines at his back. Perhaps she’d thought him an officer with hands soft as a lily, only able to order others to do the dirty work. But James had not always been at the top, and he knew what it was like to face an enemy on a deck slick with blood, so scared that you were certain you would not live to see the sun set.

What a price he’d paid to finally win her. Crazier yet, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t do it all over again, for the torrid night they’d shared. He thought of the lives lost in the hurricane and knew shame, but there it remained.

She made a soft sound, her eyelids fluttering open.

He froze, certain she would think him leering down at her like a lovesick calf. He waited for the inevitable. She would certainly fly from the bed, declare something missish like _how dare you!_ or _I love Will!_ and flee.

When she smiled it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

When she lifted a hand to touch his hair gently, brushing dark strands away from his eyes, James felt his heart _stop._

“Good morning,” she sighed sleepily, sinking back down into the pillow.

It took James a moment or two—several, in fact—to find he still possessed a voice. “Good morning.”

She studied him with those coffee colored eyes, her gaze sweeping over his visage. “Your eyes are such a lovely green, James. Like the forest in the heart of summer. I never knew.” He closed his eyes to the compliment, leaning into her hand.

She’d never spent as much time studying him as he had her, he supposed. Despite the tenderness in the observation, it still stung.

Her fingers trailed over his beard, stroking the coarse hair. “I know it’s atrocious,” he apologized, thinking he would have given three gold sovereigns for a shave at that moment.

“I rather like it.”

He laughed, but it was tinged with bitterness. “Of course you do. I look _nothing_ like myself now.”

James made to vacate the bed, but Elizabeth was quicker. Suddenly he found himself with the vixen perched atop him, the heat of her bare womanhood pressed against his belly. With a helpless groan he sat back again, his hands gravitating to the long thighs that straddled him. His eyes were drawn to the hourglass curves of her torso, and her perfect little breasts. Perhaps buxom curves were the fashion of the day, but he’d never thought her less than breathtaking in all her svelte lines. Like a fast ship, or a fine horse, the Creator clearly saw fit to spend a little extra time in the making of her form.

“That’s hardly fair,” she insisted. “This is the first time I’ve ever been allowed to see the man behind the wig and all that gold braid and blue wool. And you know, I think I rather like him.”

Her fingers trailed over his chest in the most distracting way, and for a moment James closed his eyes and allowed himself to simply enjoy her touch. But it was not long before he spoke again, unable to stop himself. “Then what you are saying is that I should have seduced you _before_ proposing marriage. I’m sure your father would have been _thrilled_ by that tack.”

Elizabeth had the pluck to offer a cheeky grin. “Perhaps you should have,” she agreed, thinking back on the James she had known in Port Royal. Stoic, always in control of himself, never the slightest given over to any kind of emotion or passion. She’d thought him a perfect stone wall, and how could a warm blooded young woman want to tie herself forever to that? If only she’d known what boiled underneath that fetching blue uniform. Had she known a little more of the world, perhaps she could have guessed.

James looked away, trying to imagine such a feat in his old life and failing to envision it. His old self could not have stood for such impropriety. He would have rather _died_ than dishonour her. “I cannot fathom how I would have even _begun_ to go about such a thing, then.”

Elizabeth offered a smile tinged with sadness. “You might have courted me _a little_ before proposing. A visit that did not consist completely of speaking to my father of the state of security in the Caribbean, or perhaps a picnic…” His offer had come so seemingly out of the blue; she hadn’t thought he regarded her as anything but the annoying child who had terrorized the dauntless so many years ago, much less a possible candidate for a _wife._

A heavy sigh escaped him, and instantly Elizabeth regretted causing the pain that shone in his eyes. “I know that I bungled my courtship of you. I do apologize for that. You deserved…more.”

Elizabeth held his hand to her cheek, kissing his wrist. “You needn’t apologize to _me_ , James. I’m sorry I mentioned it. I know you were a busy man.”

Which was true, but too busy to communicate his interest properly? No, there was a different truth in that. “No. I…was afraid,” he admitted.

A frown creased her perfect features, those sculpted dark brows joining in the center of her forehead. “The _Scourge_ of Piracy afraid of _me_? What rubbish.”

His lips pursed in a small smile. It did sound absurd, didn’t it? “I did not think myself worthy of you. I was just a lowly post-captain until my promotion came. And then I suppose I was foolishly impatient. I knew your father intended to send you to London for a season if you did not find a suitable match in Port Royal. I was afraid you might slip through my fingers.”

He’d also been terribly proud of himself that day, as he had a right to be. A little drunk perhaps on the excitement, and Weatherby Swann’s excellent sherry, and—love. He could still remember the way his heart had pounded in his chest at first seeing her that day, bedecked in all her finery in the latest fashions, _all for him_ or so he’d thought. And then rather than slip through his fingers, she’d plummeted from the battlements, and he’d been too preoccupied with his little speech to even notice until it was too late.

What a perfect ninny he’d been. Perhaps he had not _deserved_ her.

Elizabeth frowned as he criticized himself. He could be so harsh, on himself most of all. “What nonsense. I couldn’t have received a finer offer, James. I see that now.”

“You are kind, my lady.”

She could tell that he was humouring her, and she narrowed her eyes with determination. “Perhaps _I_ should have taken the initiative,” she mused, her imagination running a bit wild with the possibilities that had passed them by. “I should have grabbed you up at Christine Forsyth’s birthday ball.” The Forsyths were a rich merchant family in Port Royal, and that party had been the last they’d attended together before the debacle with the pirates. “I could have pleaded the need for fresh air, and during a turn in the garden I should have kissed you silly behind the hibiscus bushes.”

As though to demonstrate she leaned down to kiss him, a slow tangle of lips and tongue that melted James from head to toe. The curtain of her hair blocked the bright sunlight, cloistering the lovers in their embrace. James couldn’t help but smile against her mouth with the thought. “And then?” he dared ask, his voice becoming thick as the tide of desire rose within him again. Elizabeth could feel a certain part of his anatomy coming to attention as she narrated this sweet fiction, the velvety tip of his penis touching her bottom. She reveled in this newfound power, and moved her hips a little just to hear him gasp.

“Hmm. And then…” her lips travelled down his jawline, teeth nipping lightly at the soft lobe of his ear, causing his hands on her waist to clench a little. She was finding that she loved the strength in those hands, and the way they seemed to fit on every curve of her body. “ _Naturally_ , you would have been overcome, and finally persuaded to declare yourself.” His answering chuckle was a deep bass rumble in his chest.

“Indeed?”

“Yes, _certainly_.” He could feel her cheeky smile against his neck. “ _Then_ you would have led me to the secret grotto in the Forsyth gardens. The one with the fountain of Poseidon and that absurd clamshell bench hidden in the niche behind it. Where you would have sat me down, and plied me with these bone-melting kisses, and shown me that _marvelous_ trick you performed last night with your mouth.”

James went rock hard at the thought, and yet despite everything he felt himself color at the memory of his conduct the night before. He’d been completely unhinged by desire, and had wanted to make her come more than anything, even more than the completion of his own pleasure. Yet now, with the pure morning sun shining through the window the world seemed different, and he second guessed himself.

“That was…not gentlemanly. I apologize—”

“It was _divine,_ ” she assured him before he could offer regret. “Don’t you _dare_ apologize. In fact I hope you’ll do it again.”

Had he looked in the mirror, James knew his cheeks would be apple red.

Elizabeth ignored his embarrassment, and her kisses continued to blaze a trail down his chest. The sensation of her mouth on his skin lulled him, and James could do nothing but sigh, his hands fisting in her hair. When her tongue dipped into the valley of his hip a pained groan escaped him, and he suspected he knew what she was about. Something whispered that _only whores know that trick_ while the rest of him rejoiced with the forbidden desire to feel her mouth on his now throbbing cock.

“Elizabeth…you don’t have to—”

“Hush, James. Fair’s fair.” She was _determined_ , it seemed, to have her way.

When her lips wrapped around his swollen member he was _lost_ to her, only able to offer encouragement and gentle guidance with a hand on the back of her head, and sounds of enjoyment torn from deep in his throat. In no time, watching her blonde head bob upon him, he knew he would burst from the pleasure. “Elizabeth, that’s enough…” he tried to warn her, but she only responded with what might have been a laugh, taking him even further into the back of her throat. He came in her mouth with a moan, and watched with a mixture of delight and horror as she swallowed him down, only a little moisture escaping at the corner of her mouth.

Smiling like a satisfied cat, she collapsed to rest her head upon his chest, listening to his heart pound like a trapped bird against his ribcage. “I’ve never done that before,” she said, drawing circles in his chest hair.

She’d proven so proficient that James wasn’t sure he believed her, but it hardly mattered.

“You could have fooled me.”

Elizabeth laughed, unfazed. She sat up on an elbow to regard him, biting her lip the way she had since she was a little girl when she was curious. It was interesting. He knew her every little tell, it seemed, but she claimed to have hardly known him at all. He had not allowed her to see him, he realized, cooped up behind the wall of his military man facade. It was something he’d thought would come once they dwelled in the security of a marriage. He hadn’t fathomed it would be important to reveal himself _before_ , hoping his status as a Commodore, _a smart match_ , would be enough to win her.

Too late, he realized Elizabeth Swann was not a woman to be won by such things.

She’d wanted passion, love, and maybe even a little scandal to sweeten the deal.

Well, now she was a fugitive, and he a disgraced officer of the Royal Navy. If it was _scandal_ she wanted, he could deal it in spades. As far as the rest—it had been hers to claim all along, even if she had not realized it.

“Your turn,” he informed her, voice husky with desire. With a hand fisted in her hair he pulled her into a kiss. He could taste himself on her mouth, but could not find it repulsive. His kisses travelled down, pausing to pay utmost attention to her left breast, and then her right. She panted beneath him, her fingers tangled in his dark hair.

“ _Oh James_.”

It was _ridiculous_ what the sound of his name on her lips did to him. He forgot all shame, all rules of propriety, and again all he wanted was to feel her arch with that ultimate pleasure beneath him, panting his name like a prayer. “What was it exactly you wanted me to do again?” he teased, kissing the pink bud between her legs lightly before lifting his head to regard her.

Her eyes smoldered as she looked down the length of her torso to see him nestled between her thighs, an unbelievably rogue smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t even know what to call it,” she admitted, amusement shining in her dark eyes.

James rifled through all the terms for the act, and none were terribly fetching, truth be told. “I think _that marvelous trick_ will do,” he answered thoughtfully, before descending to press his lips to her once more. Her delighted laughter faded to moans as he kissed and licked between her legs. One long arm extended up, and he toyed with her nipple as he made love to her with his mouth. It felt as though a spear of pleasure shot through her every time he tweaked that tight bud, the two parts of her body inexplicably connected. Elizabeth’s back arched like the drawing of a bowstring, ready to fire. She came with a wanton cry, and as she trembled James quickly moved to bury himself inside her, shuddering as the convulsions of her tight little quim squeezed his cock.

He began to move, winning a ragged groan from Elizabeth as her hands scrabbled for some purchase on this earthly plane, her fingers digging into his shoulder and ribs. James fought not to say things like _this could have been yours for always_ or _do you regret choosing the blacksmith now?_ They were useless questions, really, and even more so, he wasn’t sure he wanted the answers.

And so he said nothing, taking her to the shining peak of release once more with his body moving within hers, and his large hands upon her soft flesh. Once more she cried out his name, digging her nails into his back as she came, and it was more than enough to drag him over that exquisite ledge with her. He chanted her name like a whispered prayer into the bend of her neck. _Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elizabeth._

The very instrument of his damnation and his salvation.

For a long time they did not stir, tangled in each other like a bowline knot of arms and legs. But finally, as the sun rose higher in the sky and the grumbling in James’ stomach became insistent, he asked, “Would you care for some breakfast?”

Elizabeth pressed her lips, seeming embarrassed. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to care for me, James. I know your situation must be…tenuous.”

She expected many responses, but not a chuckle from deep in the former Commodore’s chest. Though he declined to say it, after bestowing the most glorious night and morning of his _life_ upon him, it seemed the least he could do was _feed_ her. “ _Tenuous_ is a perfectly accurate word for my place in the world as of late, though you are still welcome to anything I have, Elizabeth. I suppose some things never change.”

He in turn did not expect the _sadness_ that overcame her delicate features. “I don’t deserve you,” she said quietly, unable to meet his eyes. This newly penitent Elizabeth Swann was a curious creature to behold. Perhaps she had grown up a little after all?

“Well. If I have learned anything in this life it is that no one gets what they truly deserve,” he said lightly, hoping to make her smile. However, that too she seemed to take gravely, her lips pressed tight together.

“James, I’m _sorry_. You deserve the best of everything. I—”

It was ever so gratifying to hear it, though he found he would give anything to see her smile again. And so he silenced her with his lips pressed to hers, and their breakfast was happily delayed for _another_ half hour.


	5. A Most Ardent Devotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lizzy has a surprise for James.

Once, James Norrington’s days had been filled from dawn till dusk with urgent tasks: briefings, drills, inspections, and the overseeing of His Majesty’s warships. There were scores of men who needed his direction, and a growing colony which needed his watchful eye upon the threats of the sea to survive.

Now, he slept late into the morning, and his main concerns had become cards, rum, and making Elizabeth Swann come as many times as possible between sunrise to sunrise.

The latter, at least, seemed a worthy endeavor.

Somehow amidst all the ruin of his life he had managed to win the one thing he had wanted most. He became Elizabeth’s lover, provider, protector—and he dare say, her _friend._ Not the type of _friend_ as they had been before, a vague and stiflingly polite acquaintance smothered by propriety, but a true companion with which he shared everything. When she looked upon him, James thought he was not _too_ delusional to think there could even be something _like_ love in her eyes.

Free from the constraints of a proper schedule, they made love at all times of the day. Elizabeth went to sleep in his arms with a satisfied sigh, exhausted by the delights of their carnal adventures. She would wake to James’ lips upon her back, his morning cockstand buried deep inside her body still moist from the games they had played the night before.

She could not help but think their intimate life was decidedly more satisfying than what might have been achieved in a connubial bed. It was impossible to imagine James loving her with such rakish daring in their old life; surely respectable husbands did not insinuate one’s thumb in their lover’s aft at precisely that pinnacle moment, making her come twice as hard around his cock buried deep inside her? Who knew that the Commodore’s mouth, usually drawn in such a serious line without a hint of smile, could be used to elicit such sinful pleasures from her nubile young body?

At times she wondered where the former Commodore had learned such tricks, but in the end she decided she didn’t really want to know. He was a man of the world, and ten years her elder, after all. She was learning there was much more to him than what she’d originally thought. There was a fierceness in him that had always been carefully hidden behind an immaculate uniform and inscrutable countenance; now that she’d glimpsed it, she could not fathom how she’d missed the fire that burned within James Norrington.

Sometimes he was rough, all teeth and clenching hands upon her flesh, taking her like a hurricane against the wall of their room. She loved the fury of his ardor in those heated moments, feeling as though she had accomplished some great feat in unwinding this steadfast man.

Sometimes he made love to her with such tenderness that it broke her heart. One such night she had teased him in the thoroughfare, inciting him to chase her up the stairs to their room, and they raced laughing like carefree young lovers. When finally he caught her he’d kissed her in a way that melted her bones, and swept her up into his arms to carry her across the threshold like a bride. The significance had been lost on neither of them, and she’d returned his sweetness with a surprising devotion of her own.

After, only when she thought he’d fallen asleep did she allow her tears of regret to silently roll down her cheeks. And only after James thought she slumbered did he kiss them away, and maybe let slip a few of his own.

There was another thing James Norrington did with his mouth these days that drove Elizabeth utterly wild.

He _smiled_.

In their short time on Tortuga she witnessed that phenomenon more than in her entire acquaintance with him in Port Royal, and his smile was like the sun shining through the clouds on a rainy day, those emerald eyes flashing with mirth. In those moments Elizabeth felt the world was too beautiful to stand, and too cruel to abide.

Days like this faded into weeks, and weeks melted into a month, and then days more stacked on top of that.

At first Elizabeth kept a weather eye for black sails upon the horizon, hoping that a ship dark as pitch would anchor in the harbor. She knew James did the same, for entirely different reasons. But at a certain point, that particular goal seemed slip away, the need to find Will fading like the memory of an old song she once knew, but could no longer recall the words.

The day Elizabeth realized she loved James Norrington she was unusually quiet, clutching his hand in hers as she looked out through their tall windows. It was a clear day, the sun glittering upon the azure waters of the harbor, but she could not shake the feeling that something crackled in the air. Suddenly she was no longer satisfied with their amusing but feckless existence, winning money with cards and wagers and fast hands in fat purses, just to eat and drink it all away through the night. James was meant for so much _more_ than that, and she dared think, so was she.

James knew something had changed in her, and with a storm in his heart he waited for her to tell him that she would be leaving. That their little tryst had been amusing but she needed to find her true love now.

Instead she surprised him by laying her tattered coat out on the bed, carefully slitting the lining with a razor sharp dagger. He watched with keen eyes as she extracted a leather folio from within, and offered it to him for inspection.

“What is this?” he asked, voice hushed as though he held a holy item in his palms, for all the gravity she paid the papers.

“Read it.”

He untied the leather thong, unfurling the documents upon his lap. Immediately he recognized the ornate form for Letters of Marque and Reprisal. “Where on earth did you get these?” he asked with some alarm, his fingers ghosting over the flourished signature at the bottom. Signed by Lord Cutler Beckett himself.

“I took them from Beckett.”

“How?”

“He found the business end of a pistol quite persuasive.”

James could not help but smirk at the image of Elizabeth pointing a gun at the self-important little man. Though he had never met Beckett himself, word got around of his diminutive size and surly disposition. She joined him on the bed, stretching out beside him like a cat.

“Why are you showing me these?”

Elizabeth looked down. “Well…you _are_ the finest captain to ever sail these waters, James. Perhaps we could use them?”

James’ heart thundered in his chest as he grasped her meaning.

_A future._

A future that included she and he, _together_.

It was his fondest wish, and yet he could not help but sigh.

Captaining a privateer vessel was such a pale comparison to his former command.

“You’ll make a pirate of me yet, eh Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “Everyone takes prizes, James. Pirate, privateer, or Royal Navy. It’s just a matter of who gets a cut of the spoils. Maybe it’s your turn?”

In a way she was right. James had certainly taken his share of prizes before, and happily spent the rewards. A navy man certainly couldn’t live well on salary alone. And yet he had never been one of those captains who sought to only enrich himself through the spoils of war. He had taken his duty to protect the King’s subjects of Jamaica very seriously, even when the admiral urged him to focus more on _material_ gains.

And yet if this was what Elizabeth had thought of him when he had been Commodore—no wonder she found him such a hypocrite for wanting to hang Jack Sparrow. The thought saddened him more than anything. Of course, she was very small when Port Royal had been a brigand’s paradise. She did not understand the work he and his men had done to make it a safe place for people and commerce. The toil and sweat and blood spilled.

There had been so much more to the responsibility of his commission than _spoils._ There were intangible but important things like duty, and honor. None of which, he realized, he possessed any more.

She sensed the sudden change in him, and cursed herself for a fool. Of course he wouldn’t see this as some form redemption. And maybe…maybe he didn’t _want_ to stay with her. After everything that had happened, how could she blame him? “I see I have overstepped. I apologize, James.” She reached for the folio, but James caught her hand, lacing his long fingers between her own.

“Does this mean you have given up on searching for William?”

Elizabeth gnawed her lip between her teeth, ruminating on what to say. “Finding him no longer seems urgent,” she admitted.

“May I ask why?”

Drawing circles upon the sheets between them, she sighed, “You _know_ why.”

Suddenly feeling like he was drowning, James turned her gaze back to his with a hand upon her cheek, searching her eyes for a lifeline. “ _Please_ enlighten me.”

A long silence passed between them. So long that James felt certain she would not answer. His insides felt as though a lit fuse sizzled in his belly, and suddenly he very _badly_ wished to retreat from the room. As he gathered the resolve to do so she finally said three words.

“ _I love you_.”

She could have pushed him over with a feather.

“Elizabeth?”

“I love you, James Norrington.”

Even while his mind was still utterly _stupefied_ his hands acted of their own accord, reaching out to draw her to him, his lips insatiably hungry upon hers. Happily she surrendered to him, to his hands and his mouth and his body claiming her for his own.

“You cannot know how long I have wanted to hear those words from you,” he rasped, teeth grazing her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she answered breathlessly, her head tilting back into the pillow as he thrust inside her. “ _I’m so sorry._ I will make it up to you. I promise, I will.”

James laced his fingers with hers, locking eyes as he moved on top of her. “No more apologies,” he admonished her. He couldn’t stand the thought of her feeling pain for her actions any more. It was done, _long_ done, and now here they were together. “ _I love you._ We shall find our way.”

Later, in the quiet after the passion-filled storm while they lay sated in a tangle of sweaty limbs, Elizabeth asked, “How long?”

“Hmm?” Still drifting in a pleasant haze, drawing designs with the tips of his fingers upon her arm, James did not immediately comprehend her question.

“How long have you loved me? Before you proposed I didn’t think you paid me any mind at all.”

James chuckled, more at himself than anything. What a _blunder_ he’d made of his courtship of her.

“Do you remember the party your father threw when the Dauntless returned from hunting down Bloody Bill O’Brien’s bunch?”

Elizabeth’s memory swam with _so_ many parties, they were all usually so utterly boring and all ran together. And yet it dawned on her what night he spoke of. “That was the night I found you in the garden.”

“Yes.” James and his officers had been lauded as heroes, and old Bill had hung earlier that day and hung in a gibbet at the point. Yet the losses had been heavy, and James could not help but feel haunted by the lives lost and the horrible things he’d seen. He didn’t feel like a hero at all, and he’d fled the festivities to sit on a bench out in the manicured gardens of the King’s House.

Bloody Bill had been a pirate of the worst sort, utterly loathsome, never expressing the slightest hint of remorse for the lives he took. There had been ten young women held as prisoners in the brig, so frightened and misused that most could not even speak. For months James would see their faces when he tried to close his eyes at night, and he hated himself for not finding that devil of a pirate sooner.

It had not been proper, but James had been persuaded by a concerned Miss Swann to tell her a little of the journey and the battle. Somehow he’d felt lighter afterwards. “Speaking to you that night was a boon to my soul. You listened to me intently, you understood me in a way I think no other woman on the island could. You were intelligent and familiar with the workings of a ship and always pressed me for stories of the sea, which seemed like serendipity for I have trouble speaking of anything _but_ nautical ventures. Forgive me for being unkind, but the other ninnies in Port Royal’s society would simper and nod and then whisper with a giggle, _pray tell_ , _what is a helm?_ ”

Elizabeth laughed at that. Her lifelong interest in the sea and sailing had been much to her father’s chagrin. It was unseemly in a little girl and not proper for a lady, as all her interests were. Who knew it would serve to attract such a smart match after all? Too bad she’d sunk that ship to the bottom of the sea before it ever had a chance to sail.

“I was only seventeen that year.”

“I know. But you acted much older in so many ways. And when my words failed me because I could not possibly articulate the horrors I’d seen in Bloody Bill’s hold, you took my hand and anchored me to sanity. Do you remember that?”

Biting her lip, Elizabeth nodded. He’d squeezed her fingers in his large hand, almost _too_ hard, but she’d let him without a peep of protest. It was the one and _only_ time she’d seen something of the man beneath Norrington’s steadfast façade of stoic naval fortitude.

“I was lost to you that night. You snared me hook, line, and sinker. Marriage had not really interested me before then. You were spirited and intelligent and so beautiful, but more than that, I thought we might make very good companions. A thought which grew into...” Again he laughed at himself. “Well. I think you _know._ ”

“ _Tell me_ ,” she whispered. She needed to know. She had to know what she’d been too blind to see right before her eyes.

James searched for the words. How did one speak of that wild and insistent yearning he’d carried in his heart? The longing for her on voyages, the aching desire to hear her voice once more? A thing that made his pulse race at the mere sight of her, made him stammer in her company?

“A most _ardent_ devotion,” he finally answered, tilting her head up for a kiss. Gladly she granted a press of lips, her mouth lingering upon his.

The fact was after that night Elizabeth had been certain she’d overstepped her bounds, or offended him in some way. He’d become even more seemingly distant, refusing to even meet her eyes when they were in each other’s company. She’d thought he did not like her anymore, but now she realized that his feelings had run quite the opposite. She saw it all now, looking back.

What fools they had _both_ been.

 

**XXX**

 

Elizabeth snoozed, and when she woke she regarded James through the curtain of her hair. He sat in their only chair at the little wobbly table in naught but his breeches, the ties only loosely laced. Her eyes were drawn to the dusting of dark hair that trailed his abdomen, up to spread over his muscular pectorals. Scars interrupted the planes of his skin, some small, and some Elizabeth knew marked injuries that must have nearly taken his life.

The thought left her mouth dry with dread, even though it was all over now. It meant he was a survivor, and she should have taken comfort in that, at least.

James clasped the Letters of Marque in his large but elegant hands, his brow furrowed slightly as he read over them for the umpteenth time. She found that look of stern concentration rather endearing; she could nearly hear the cogs whirring in his lighting quick mind. His jaw clenched, and he stroked his beard in thought. He’d kept it because it helped him blend in as _James Smith_ on this pirate island, and because she liked it, though he now kept it trimmed considerably shorter.

A bottle of rum sat on the table, untouched. He hardly drank anymore during the day, unless mixed with water to make grog. This was a fallen man who had been given the gift of _hope_ once more.

Elizabeth prayed she would not let him down again.

James folded the folio carefully and placed it on the table, his expression inscrutable to her.

At last he noticed her dark eyes shining from behind the honeyed curtain of her hair. Instantly his expression changed, a smile softening his handsome features into something utterly _radiant._

_Ardent devotion._

That was what Elizabeth felt welling in her chest, and though it was not the first time in her life, somehow it felt _different._ Stronger. Steadfast.

This was not childish infatuation, but a woman’s love of a worthy mate.

She realized that no matter how she’d loved Will, a part of her had always expected them to fail. Their worlds were too different. And she was too… _something_. Something not entirely kind. She did not think James mistook her for a woman who was soft and sweet. He knew all too well what she was capable of.

Somehow, he loved her anyway.

Vaguely, she wondered if they were engaged again. She smiled a little at the thought; well why not? She should be getting good at it by now, with all the practice.

“We’re going to need a ship, you know,” he finally said, seeming amused.

“We can _procure_ one,” she answered cheerfully, clearly excited that he was interested in her gift.

“Steal one, you mean?” he teased with a sideways look at his lover.

“ _Liberate_ one. Perhaps from a pirate, or even better, the French?”

James could not help but chuckle at the thought. _When in doubt, there’s always time to make war with the French._ “So now you will turn on your beloved pirates?”

“I was fond of Jack Sparrow, though I would not call him _beloved._ He saved my life more than once, you know.”

Just the _mention_ of that pirate’s name darkened James’ countenance. True, he had saved one life, but at least by his reckoning taken so many others. Would he have traded the lives of his men for hers?

No.

Damn him, but he knew the answer he would always give to that question was _no._

And yet these Letters provided an interesting opportunity, if they dared. _Even_ , a dark voice whispered, _another chance for revenge_.


	6. The Faithful Bryde

 

Later that day they sat at their usual table for supper at the Faithful Bryde. The tavern had grown raucous, but they were used to the ballyhoo by now. Elizabeth curled at his side, sated after a large bowl of stew, content with his arm around her. For a Lady of the highest pedigree, she was certainly at home in the bawdy tavern, tapping her fingers to the rhythm of the frantic horn pipe and fiddle. They watched the crowd with amusement, this night feeling somehow separate from the melee. Hope loomed on the horizon, and the possibility of a future. It was a heady drug.

Later, they would go down to the Two Cranes for cards. They had learned it was best to change their venue every night, for James was simply too good at winning and the regulars became disgruntled if they lost badly _two_ nights in a row. With a few days and a couple bottles of rum in between they seemed to forget the tall dark stranger and his prowess for winning all their money.

James noticed Elizabeth staring at something across the room, and when he followed her gaze his blood ran cold.

Will Turner spoke with a barmaid across the smoky room, having just seated himself at the far wall. The boy flirted with the buxom wench, and James watched as Elizabeth’s jaw clenched. As though waking from a dream, she turned to James, her cheeks flushed. “I must have a word with him,” she said, and James could see it all playing out before him. No matter what she’d said to him earlier that day, there was something in her eyes as she looked upon her first love. The boy for whom she’d proved she would sacrifice _anything or anyone_ to save.

So this was the night he would lose Elizabeth Swann again?

Resigned, he made a waving gesture towards the whelp. “By your leave, my dear.”

She sensed something tense in the air between them, but decided they could hash it out later.

He took a swig of rum as he watched her weave through the crowd, a much bigger one than he’d had in a while now. Surprisingly he felt nothing, but not nothing in the way of indifference. Nothing, in way one’s heart would feel if dipped in ice.

 _Numb_.

Utter and total numb.

It was the only way he would survive losing her again.

Then another figure caught James’ attention across the room. Despite the throng, there was no mistaking that swaying swagger, that mane of dark ropey hair flashing with beads.

Jack Sparrow.

A dark rage filled him, black as the hurricane that had taken his ship and his men to the bottom of the ocean. James rose from the table, certain he no longer had _anything_ left to lose.

 

**XXX**

 

Shouting and the sound of an overturned table drew Elizabeth’s attention, and she looked up from her heated exchange with the blacksmith. Will rubbed the eye that she had just struck with such surprising force for a wisp of a woman.

“ _James_ ,” she hissed, panic in her voice. She recognized his dark head standing a good six inches above most of the crowd. Urgently she made her way across the tavern as quickly as she could, shoving people out of the way. But a brawl had started, and someone shoved her back. She narrowly escaped a thrown chair by quickly ducking.

By the time she reached James he had Jack cornered, pointing his pistol at the pirate captain. As he pulled upon the trigger Elizabeth acted without thought, striking his arm so that the shot went wild.

A moment later there was the awful sound of breaking glass, and James crumpled to her feet. Shocked, Elizabeth looked up to see Gibbs holding a broken rum bottle, looking rather horrified for having wasted the precious libation on knocking the former Commodore’s lights out.

Someone across the way who had been privy to Jack and James’ heated conversation shouted angrily, “ _That’s_ James Norrington? He hung my best mate! Get ‘im!”

The chaos only increased in the close room, and Jack sprang up from his chair. “Time to go, me thinks.”

“Jack!” Elizabeth cried. “Please, you have to help me!”

The pirate paused, swaying on his feet. “Oi?”

“They’ll kill him! Please, help me get him out of here!” Elizabeth tried to lift James with one arm around her neck, but he was dead weight and simply too big. “Please!” she begged, finding tears in her eyes.

“Of _course_ , milady!” Jack snarled, annoyed that this girl’s pleading moved him so. “He only tried to kill me! _Again_. Where to, your nibs?”

“The Pearl.”

“Naturally! Jolly good idear!” Though Jack put on annoyance, she could see he was actually rather amused by this whole situation, a badly disguised smile tugging at his unsettlingly well-formed mouth.

Together they managed to drag James out a back door before the mob could eat them alive.

 

**XXX**

 

James woke with a splitting headache, leaning back against something hard that dug into his back. The world swayed, and instantly he knew he was at sea. And though he had not been seasick since he was a lad, he reckoned the knock on the head excused him from losing his dignity as he threw up in the corner.

So he was in a cell. A brig, to be specific. How lovely.

“James?”

He turned to find Elizabeth seated on a stool on the other side of the bars, her dark eyes wide with worry. The former Commodore wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and paid her a weary gaze.

“You were his agent all along.”

“Who?”

“Sparrow.” James laughed a little, though there was only sorrow in it. “What a fool I was. You weren’t saving the Letters for the _boy_ , he doesn’t know the bow from the aft of a ship. You were saving them for _Jack._ ”

“James, you’ve had a nasty knock on the head, and you’re a little confused. Let me get you some water.”

“Please don’t bother, _Miss Swann._ ”

She froze while standing up, clearly injured by the formality.

“He doesn’t deserve to die, James,” she finally said, clasping the bars in her hands. “I couldn’t let you kill him.”

“And what of all my men that now lay dead at the bottom of the ocean?” James snarled. “Did _they_ deserve to die?”

“Killing Jack won’t bring them back. It was a horrible accident but it wasn’t your fault and it wasn’t his fault.”

James made a waving motion as one would dismiss a servant. “I’ve had it with your justifications, Elizabeth. All your pretty little lies. _Spare_ me. You used me to survive on that wretched island, you made me think that you loved me, you chose your side, and now everything is _quite_ clear. At least this engagement was a bit more _pleasurable_ than the last one.”

Elizabeth stiffened at his crude insinuation, tears welling in her eyes. So he _had_ thought them engaged again.

“It’s not _like_ that,” she insisted. “Jack has a special compass that Beckett wants. He needed me to use it to make a heading for something he needs. In exchange he will help us get a _ship,_ James!”

“Indeed? Then why am I in _here_?”

“Because Jack thought you might be angry when you woke up. Forgive me, but he was right.”

“Ha! That’s the understatement of the century.”

James scowled at her, and Elizabeth found an answering well of anger roiling up in her belly. “Do you know _how_ Jack got that P branded on his arm that you were so ready to hang him for?”

“Does it matter?”

“I think it does. He was a respectable merchant captain once for the East India Trading Company. But he could not stomach commerce in human flesh, so he freed a ship full of men and women and _children_ destined to be slaves on Barbados. And Lord Beckett paid him back by torturing him, burning his ship, and leaving him for dead. How is _that_ justice for you?”

James was very quiet, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. Elizabeth crouched down to his level, reaching her hand through the bars. “You have to let go of this hatred, James. It will eat you alive. _Please_.”

James only shook his head. “You don’t seem to understand, Elizabeth. I am nothing but a dead man walking.”

“Please don’t say that. We could be happy, together. I believe that from the bottom of my heart. Please don’t give up now.”

When James looked up there was fire flashing in his green eyes. He was _ridiculously_ handsome when he was angry, she found herself thinking, before he dealt the final blow. “There is no _we_. There is no _us_. There has only ever been you and Jack, and we both know it. So please. Go. Away.”

Elizabeth backed away from the bars; she could not have been more shocked, more hurt, had James struck her. She shook her head, her throat impossibly tight. Somehow she choked out the words, “You are a bloody fool, James Norrington,” before fleeing up the companionway.

 


	7. The Last Man Laughing

# The Last Man Laughing

 

Once in the open air Elizabeth fled to the forecastle, tucked herself in a ball in a corner, and _wept_. She had not even cried so hard in Port Royal when Will left her, and her comfortable life was snatched away. Now, she felt as though she had truly lost _everything_ that could ever be of importance. The man she loved hated her now, and she wanted to _die._

The keening coming from the front of the ship unnerved a great many of the men, and they all looked to their Captain in wide-eyed bewilderment. Jack thought he might know a bit more of what ailed the lass. He in fact had noticed the girl and ol’ Norry curled up like—peas in a pod—at their table in the Faithful Bryde, whispering to each other like conspirators in a romantic play. Jack had been a bit amused that the Commodore finally got his girl, and more than a little dismayed. He himself had had more than a thought or two about the Governor’s daughter the past year, even though Will swore up and down that she had escaped to England to marry herself into safety from the hangman’s noose.

Jack made his way to the forecastle, kneeling down before Elizabeth.

“Love, I know you’ve had a rough go of it, but you are _scaring_ the men. They’re leery enough of having a woman on board as it is. No sense makin’ em think we’ve a banshee on deck, eh dearie?”

Elizabeth sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve. She was not a _pretty_ crier, but she was honest, Jack would hand her that. “Oh Jack, this is terrible. I love him and now he hates me! He thinks I betrayed him again,” she choked out between hiccupping sobs. “He’s already lost so much. You have to tell him, Jack. You have to tell him that we were not conspiring together. _Please, please tell him_.” She broke down in sobs again, and whatever else was said was lost in the howling gale of her sorrow.

“Alright, love, alright.” Jack helped her to her feet, and reluctantly she followed. It hardly registered that he led her into his cabin, urging her to sit in the throne-like chair before his chart table. “I think you need a drink, eh?” He went to a cabinet from whence he produced a bottle of rather fine brandy, and poured her a snifter. “Here, drink up,” he said, swirling the glass and setting it in front of her. “Let’s let him cool down a bit. Then ol’ Jack will have a chat with the former Commodore. Don’t you worry your pretty lil’ head. Everything will be right as rain on the morrow, hmm?”

Elizabeth nodded, but could not stop crying, curling up in the large chair.

Jack made a face, feeling quite inept to deal with a female weeping at this magnitude.

“Well…” He rummaged around again, finding a scarf that was _mostly_ clean. “Here, love.”

She took the proffered fabric, blowing her nose in it messily.

Jack promptly fled.

 

XXX

 

A few hours later Jack descended into the brig, a lantern in tow. Norrington watched the pirate Captain’s approach with a baleful gaze, glaring green daggers at Jack.

“Come to taunt me some more, Sparrow?” he drawled, doing his best to sound bored while really he felt as though he’d taken a cutlass to the gut. Had Sparrow elected to execute him right then he believed he would have welcomed the respite. All he could really think about was _Elizabeth,_ and the pain was _excruciating._

“That’s _Captain_ Sparrow. And, actually I’ve a different mission, as it were.” Sparrow plunked down on the stool, peering through the bars at Norrington. “You look bloody awful, mate.”

James rolled his eyes. “A different mission?” he prompted, attempting to keep the pirate on track. His lackadaisical deportment was all an act, James was certain. A ploy to lead the unsuspecting to believe Jack was not calculating at full speed at all times. Well, James knew better than to underestimate Jack Sparrow now. He’d learned that lesson the hardest way possible.

“Ah, yes. Well, you’ve got a right upset lassie topside, former Commodore. Ye said some nasty things that I think ye _probably_ didn’t mean, and were I to let you out of this cell I hope you would apologize to her _toute suite_. She’s been crying for hours on end and she’s spooking the men.”

A long silence passed between them, which was finally broken by James’ bitter laughter. “You honestly expect me to believe that? To what end, I cannot imagine, but I am done playing your fool. I am certain she is coddled in Turner’s arms as we speak.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. “Turner? You should _see_ the shiner she gave ‘im! He’s licking his wounds as far away from the she-devil ‘as he can get on this ship.” This was delivered with a gold-glinting grin. “And the only deal _I’ve_ made with your dolly-belle is that she will help me find a very important chest that I need for exceptionally _dire_ personal reasons, and in return I will help _you_ procure a vessel so that you may pirate your black little hearts out across the Caribbean. And as that deal expressly includes _you_ as in the somewhat confusing English plural the _two of you,_ I believe it’s safe to say you are still her _beau du jour_. She loves _you_ , you lucky bastard, so why don’t you lighten up a bit, eh?”

James’ heart felt as though it were being torn in two. He _wanted_ to believe Sparrow. He wanted to believe him with every _fiber_ of his being, but he was instinctively wary of doing so, for obvious reasons.

Then he realized s _he had not told Jack about the letters._ Jack thought they wanted to be _pirates_ , not privateers. Who would of course be charged with the duty to hunt pirates…and therefore Sparrow would be reluctant to help them in their quest. This was something that James found astonishing, and the fact that inspired the _slightest_ inkling of hope that Jack and Elizabeth told the truth after all.

His eyes trailed to Sparrow’s brand. “Is it true what you told her about that brand?”

Jack’s expression changed from amused to _nothing_ in a second flat. James had never seen this man appear so solemn, not even when he’d faced the noose in Port Royal. “Aye, tis true,” he said quietly.

James sighed, looking down at the slimy decking below him. “I lost eight hundred and thirty nine men chasing after you.” Their faces, the memory of their terror in the storm, played through his mind, and James shut his eyes tight in an attempt to block out the memory. Only madness lay down that road.

There was a long silence, before Jack finally answered in a surprisingly sincere tone, “M’sorry bout what happened to your pretty boat and all your men. A right shame, that. But I do not believe I made you follow me into that storm, mate.”

“Believe me, I am well aware the blame is completely on my shoulders. It is a weight I will carry with me for the remainder of my days.”

“Aye, I’m sure you will. But you know, ye have two options before you. Stew in your misery and plot to kill me in some sorry attempt to avenge all their deaths, and then my crew will kill you and not in no pretty way neither. _Or…_ ye could make nice with that lovely slip of a girl up there,” Jack pointed topside emphatically, “And enjoy a rather _appealing_ second chance at life, eh? Wouldn’t have to extend the offer my way twice…”

James scowled at Sparrow’s thinly veiled approval of Elizabeth’s… _desirability_.

He trusted Sparrow only as far as he could throw the man, and maybe not even that.

And yet the truth was, he _wanted_ a life with Elizabeth, possibly more than anything in the world. He was not a man who had ever compromised before, but maybe it was not too late to learn a new trick.

 

**XXX**

 

When at last James surfaced from the hold the sunlight topside was almost blinding. He blinked hard, fighting to regain his vision. When it finally cleared his eyes were immediately drawn to Elizabeth standing at the gunwale, her shoulders slumped as she stared out over the glittering blue water.

Jack clapped him on the back with what in Norrington’s opinion was an _obnoxious_ grin, pushing him a little in Elizabeth’s direction. James shrugged off Sparrow’s less than subtle hint with a glare. However, his ire faded as he neared closer to Miss Swann, quickly replaced by regret.

“Elizabeth?” She turned to face him, surprise written across her features. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and yet still her beauty hit him like a punch to the chest. Would he ever become used to this girl? Somehow he rather doubted it. “Please allow me to apologize for my abhorrent behavior. I—”

She launched herself across the small space between them and into his arms, holding on to him as though he were the last piece of floating flotsam in a storm. Before he could utter another word she pressed her mouth to his, and he felt himself melt against the gentle onslaught of her lips. When the kiss broke they regarded each other from only inches away, noses nearly touching. “It’s alright, James,” she assured him.

“But I—”

“I probably would have felt the same, in your shoes. But please tell me you see that I am with you?”

James stood quietly, his hands upon her waist. He had not expected this tempest of a girl to forgive him so easily. Maybe she really _did_ love him.

How novel.

“I do,” he assured her. Maybe he did not trust Sparrow one jot, but Elizabeth was pardoned in his eyes.

And so they stood together at the railing, looking out at the sea with fingers firmly clasped together. Out the corner of his eye James watched her lips curl in a small, contented smile, and his heart felt as though it might explode.

Of course, it could not last for long.

In time the pair of dunces Pintel and Ragetti approached carrying a pail and scrub brush. “Beggin’ your pardon, former Commodore, but the Captain says you’re to get to work.” They giggled together for a moment, until James fixed them with a hard stare that he’d once used to send upstart midshipmen scrambling back to their posts.

The one called Pintel gave a sheepish yellow-toothed smile, and pointed up at the quarterdeck at their _Captain._ Sparrow offered an insufferable grin that was almost blinding in the sunlight, and made a waving gesture with his fingers, shooing James off to his new duties aboard the Pearl.

For a moment Elizabeth thought James might throttle Pintle and Ragetti both, then perhaps Jack as well. “ _A ship_ ,” she reminded him, squeezing his fingers in hers.

James sighed, remembering himself. “ _A ship_ ,” he answered, kissing her on the cheek before taking the proffered pail of water. By the stench of it James wasn’t exactly sure what would be the bloody _point._

“I’ll help you,” She offered, reaching for the brush. But a voice rang down from the quarterdeck, interrupting them. “Lizzy darlin’, come help me check this heading, eh?” Jack called, a glint in his eye as he noticed the former Commodore stiffen again for the familiarity he paid her.

 _A ship,_ James reminded himself. _A ship, and Letters, and then they would just see who was the last man laughing._

With an apologetic smile Elizabeth pressed his arm and went to join Jack up on the quarterdeck, and James followed the merry idiots to swab the decks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope that made up for the last chapter. ;)


	8. Home Is Where the Heart Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Elizabeth have a disagreement about where home really is.

Good man or not, James could not _wait_ to kill Jack Sparrow.

His blatant passes at Elizabeth were _insufferable_ , orchestrated _right in front of him_ no doubt with the intention of twisting the knife. In this floating world called _The Black Pearl_ , Jack was Captain, King, and God, and James was just a lowly swab.

To her credit, Elizabeth was very good at side-stepping Jack’s overtures, turning him down every time without losing her composure. She parried and riposted with expert aplomb, perhaps even enjoying their repartee a bit _too_ much. Jack teased her, “What kind of ship would you like, love?”

_Love._

It set James’ teeth _on edge._

There was something _sly_ in Jack’s voice as he engaged Elizabeth to speak of her hopes. Something James’ didn’t like.

He did not trust Jack Sparrow to keep his word.

No, not _one_ jot.

It got even worse when they reached their destination of the Isle las Cruces. James tagged along with the spade, and narrowly resisted beating Jack with it when the pirate told Lizzy, “Don’t fraternize with the help, love,” referring to James, of course.

This chest they sought was an intriguing thing, and James had managed to piece together the scuttlebutt from the speculating crew and Elizabeth’s own gleanings from their oddball Captain.

It was not the strange compass Beckett wanted so much as what lay within this chest.

The heart of the ocean, as it were.

The heart of _Davy Jones_.

As soon as the disgusting organ was extricated from the ground the fish people of the Dutchman were upon them. A mad scramble ensued. To everyone’s surprise, the Whelp drew his sword upon Jack, spouting some drivel about freeing his father.

Unable to resist opportunity, so did James, a plan formulating in his quick mind.

That heart represented _untold_ value, and the former Commodore intended to have it.

Elizabeth protested, to no avail. Her objections were soon placed on the back burner as she herself became engaged with fighting the fish-men of Jones’ crew. She fought and fled in equal measure, until she found herself clashing swords in the jungle with a pair of two-legged sea creatures. She fought bravely but they were bigger, meaner, supernatural, and more experienced. One knocked her to the ground with a snarl. It raised its sword, its shark-toothed maw gaping in what might have been a smile, and she felt certain this was _it_ for Elizabeth Swann.

Out of nowhere a blur dressed in dark clothing slammed into the shark-man, knocking him to the ground. Swords clashed, and Elizabeth sat transfixed, watching the fight play out before her eyes.

_James._

He was _magnificent_ , truly, years of Naval training honing him into a lethal adversary. His blade flashed in the sun, wielded with expert assurance. Elizabeth was so transfixed by the sight that she was a bit slow on the draw when James grabbed her arm, pulling her up.

“Come on!” he urged, and she found her feet, sprinting deeper into the jungle with him.

When they felt their lungs might burst they paused in the trees, peering behind them for sign of pursuit. Elizabeth leaned upon him, grateful, invigorated, and frankly, _terrified_.

“What is _that_?” Elizabeth rasped, feeling something strange and lumpy within James’ coat. She felt it move, a distinct _thump thump,_ and immediately she _knew_.

“ _That_ is our future,” said James, breathing heavily from their sprint. “The world at our feet. Anything we could possibly want.”

He did not expect such an expression of _dismay_ when he broke this news.

“No, James! That heart is Jack’s _life._ We cannot take it!”

Immediately the former Commodore’s expression darkened. “How is it that Jack Sparrow’s life always seems to take precedent over my own? _Our_ own, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth, however, just shook her head, her lips quivering. “You’re going to give it to Beckett. That _wicked_ man. How can you even _contemplate_ it?”

James could not disguise the hurt in his expression. “I am going to _trade_ it to Beckett for everything I have lost, and more. With this I shall build a real life for us! We shall have everything we should have had from the start. Can’t you see?”

She, however, could only look to the ground, and James could feel his heart of glass teetering on the edge of a very high precipice. Somehow his voice came even as he explained, “We can’t put our faith in Jack Sparrow, Elizabeth. He has _no_ intention of getting us a ship. Not once he has what he wants.”

James refrained to mention that _Elizabeth_ seemed to be one of the things the pirate captain wanted, which certainly left no room for _James_ in the deal. And damn it all, he would _not_ allow himself to be left behind this time.

“He _will_ help us,” she insisted, though her vehemence had grown weaker.

“He _won’t,_ ” James insisted again. “Trust me on that. Please, Elizabeth, _come with me_. We can finally go _home._ ”

Home.

Such a small word to inspire such immense _longing_ in a man’s heart. James wanted Port Royal, Civilization, and his place within it. But Elizabeth was less than enchanted by the idea, and looked away, back toward the sea. Her jaw had that stubborn set to it, a look James knew all too well.

“I can’t,” she said quietly. “I can’t go back to that prison.”

“Prison? Beckett wouldn’t dare. Not if…you were my wife.” There was such hope in that last sentence, and it broke Elizabeth’s heart. A tear began to form in the corner of her eye, but she would not allow it to fall, clenching her teeth against the tide of sorrow that pulled at her.

“I don’t mean gaol, James. I mean… _society._ I mean being trussed up in corsets and locked up in the house unable to go out in the sun because it might cause a freckle. I mean…” Suddenly her voice gained vehemence, timid no longer. “I mean _tea_ and _balls_ and saying silly things I don’t mean to people I don’t like, all the long day, and constantly worrying about what those insipid ninnies might _say_ or _think_ about me when it has no true bearing at all. I mean sitting at the window and watching the sea for the rest of my days, waiting for _you_ to come back to me, and not allowed to have any adventure or any freedom of my own!”

James listened to her tirade with wide green eyes, stunned. He may have been less surprised had she slapped him. “I do not wish to imprison you, Elizabeth. Only…provide a good life for you. The life you _deserve_.”

“I never _wanted_ that life, James. I love you, but I will not go back there. I will not let you bind me again in that gilded cage. Out here we are _free,_ James. _Please_ , stay with me.”

James suddenly felt dizzy with the pain that squeezed his heart, and he could do nothing but look down. “This feckless life filled with uncertainty is not _freedom,_ Elizabeth. It is novel for you now, but believe me when I say you will tire of it in a year or two.”

“Tire of having _our own_ ship and the liberty to sail that our Letters would afford us _?_ ”

His voice gained an edge again, and he spat, “You have no idea how _dangerous_ life at sea truly is, Elizabeth. It’s not just sailing about pretty as you please wherever you wish with the sun on your face and the wind in your hair, and occasionally a ship will turn over and let you empty their hold if you ask nicely. It is explosions and gunfire and swordfights and bad food, disease and doldrums and _storms._ ” His expression grew even more haunted at the mention of the last. “There are more ways to die at sea than there are to live, sweetheart. I’ve already lost _eight hundre_ d men and I _can’t_ risk losing you too. Let me take you home. _Please._ Let’s just _go home_.”

“Port Royal is not _home_ anymore!” she answered heatedly. “ _You_ are my home! And I’m not _stupid._ I know life at sea is dangerous but I don’t _care_. It’s what I want. It’s what we planned!” She resisted the urge to stomp her foot like a tempestuous toddler, _willing_ him to see what he asked was impossible for her to accept.

But James could only shake his head, chuckling bitterly. He could feel that chasm opening within his heart once more, a black hole where his hopes for he and Elizabeth had dwelled. _You are my home._ Did he dare believe it? He wasn't sure he was that brave anymore. If she truly meant that, then wouldn't she come with him, wherever he decided they should go?

“It’s what we planned for _lack_ of a plan. Then I myself am not enough, it seems. You want the life of a pirate, and love me only so far as I can give it to you.”

“That’s not _fair._ ” Must she make a sacrifice of herself for their love? How could he ask this of her? Did he _know_ her at all?

“That is the truth, I think. You have pluck, my girl, but you cannot captain a ship. Even if you had the knowledge, good luck getting a crew of able bodied seamen to follow you. You need _me_ for that, don’t you?”

Elizabeth could not stop the tears now, and silently they rolled down her cheeks, making tracks in the dirt upon her face. Despite it all, she was still so beautiful James thought his heart might explode. “ _You_ are the one who is doing this,” she ground out, her throat tight. “If we part ways now, James Norrington, you are the one to blame this time. And I think once you have back your big hat and gold braid you will _regret_ it. It will all be an empty prize, and a cold bedfellow. You will become Beckett’s lap dog. It will not be the same as it was before. There is no _honor_ in serving a man like that. He wants to devour the world, and will not settle until he has had it _all._ ”

James frowned, heartbreak and anger making a heady potion within him, volatile as saltpeter and sulfur. And just what did this slip of a girl, barely twenty and two, know of what a man needs to look himself in the mirror every day? There was _always_ a Lord Beckett waiting to use the Royal Navy for economic gain. That was the way the world worked. The way England’s economy worked. They were not a nation of missionaries—they conquered lands for _gold_ and _spoils_ , and they were _damn_ good at it too.

Somehow, even as he felt his heart breaking, the most _excruciating_ pain in his chest, in his _soul,_ James straightened, looking down his nose at Elizabeth. “Very well, Miss Swann. If you are not coming with me, I would suggest you not follow.”

“James…” she rasped. “ _Please_ …”

But he strode around her, unable to look at her, fearing he would turn into a pillar of salt.

So this was goodbye.

It felt like standing on the receiving end of a firing squad.

Indeed, at meeting this wretched feeling _again_ he would have welcomed a swift death.

“James!”

He did not turn.

She rushed ahead of him, and the unmistakable sound of singing steel met his ears. James looked upon Elizabeth with her sword drawn, a determined set to her jaw. “I can’t let you take the heart,” she said quietly.

Without passion, he answered, “We both know you cannot stop me.”

He made to continue walking, and she extended the sword towards him, even as her lips quivered. James sighed, and in the blink of an eye drew his own sword and with a clever twist disarmed her, sending her blade spinning to the ground five feet away. Before she could react he hauled her against him, taking her mouth in a brutal and punishing kiss. Mercilessly he claimed her with lips and tongue, bending her neck back in his passion, his arm like a band of steel about her waist.

 _One last kiss_ he told himself. _The last time he would ever allow himself to feel **anything.**_

Because after this, James intended to lock his heart away forever. Davy Jones had the right idea.

Elizabeth melted against him, everything forgotten but _him_. She could have tried to slip her hand in his jacket for the heart. She could have tried a number of things. But all she could bring herself to do was slide her hands around the back of his neck, holding him to her. She did not want it to stop, because once it did she knew it would all be over. _They_ would be over. And she’d rather enjoyed this second chance of theirs.

In the end it was James who drew away, roughly holding her at arm’s length. It seemed cruel, but he knew if he did not take his leave of her now, he never would. She would destroy him even further, and he would let her, smiling all the way. She was his _ruin,_ through and through.

“Goodbye, Elizabeth.”

This time she did not follow, falling down to her knees on the leaf-strewn ground as she watched his long-legged form stride away, and wept.


	9. The Admiral's Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth and James meet again on the Dutchman.

When next James met Elizabeth she was a freshly minted Pirate Lord.

So fresh, in fact, that Sao Feng’s blood was still wet upon her dress.

As the ragtag crew of Chinese pirates was brought aboard the Dutchman _she_ stood out among them like a gold doubloon shining in a mud puddle, and James felt as though he was seeing a ghost. “Elizabeth?” he exclaimed, filled with such a powerful mixture of relief and dread that he wavered on his feet.

He’d been so very afraid that Jones had been telling the truth, and his former lover had been dragged to the bottom of the sea by the Kraken along with Jack Sparrow and the Pearl after they parted ways on the Isle las Cruces. Afraid— _damn near certain—_ that he’d killed her. Beckett’s assurances that Elizabeth had been seen in Singapore fell flat against the tide of his fears and guilt. He wanted to reach out and pull her to him, but for the acid look she paid him he reckoned it could be a fatal mistake.

Elizabeth’s heart _froze_ in her chest as she realized the decorated gentleman in all that blue and gold was _James._ She hardly recognized him, after the circumstances of their last acquaintance. She’d grown so used to his handsome face framed by long hair and a ruffian’s beard that she almost forgot the clean cut gentleman that lay beneath.

“James.” Her voice came flat. She been _so cold_ for _so long_ she hardly remembered how to properly express emotion. She was tired and hungry and had lost count of how many men she had killed since she and James Norrington parted ways.

One of which she’d even brought back from the land of the dead.

She looked over his uniform, the gold waistcoat and epaulettes on each shoulder with one dark brow raised imperiously. “Or should I call you _Admiral_ Norrington now?”

Deciding this was a discussion meant for privacy, James wished to move things along, and demanded of the pirates, “Who is your captain?”

His heart fell to his feet when a multitude of grubby fingers pointed in Elizabeth’s direction. Stubbornly she lifted her chin, _daring_ James not to believe it.

Of course, she _would_ make him eat his words of last time they’d met. It _almost_ made him smile. It had been a _long time_ since he’d had reason to.

“Take the crew of the Empress to the brig,” ordered Admiral Norrington in a tone that brooked no room for disobedience. “The _Captain_ shall come with me.”

He gripped her arm to lead her in the direction of the companionway, a thrill racing through him to feel her _solid flesh_ beneath his fingers, but Elizabeth fiercely wrenched free. “I would _much_ rather stay with my crew.”

“Later, if you prefer. We have _matters_ to discuss _._ ”

“Is that what you said to my father before having him killed?” she spat, fire in her tone at last. The back of her throat clenched with tears she fought not to let free. Angrily, she choked them back. That bottomless fount came anytime she let herself feel a _shred_ of emotion, about her father, about James, so she gladly chose to shove it all down and feel nothing at all. It came more easily to her than one might think.

James frowned, recoiling as though she’d slapped him. “What are you on about? Governor Swann has gone back to England.”

With a glare sharp as daggers she shook her head. “I saw him. In the place between the living and the dead, I saw him drifting.” Despite her best efforts, her voice cracked a little as she spoke of her father.

Once upon a time she would not have spouted such a tale, true as it was. But after ghost pirates, legendary sea monsters, and the existence of the very ship they stood upon, it seemed easy enough to present this testimony as credible.

She watched as those emerald green eyes darkened to nearly black, _something_ surfacing on his stony face. Regret? It was hard to say. James was a master at hiding his emotions, especially when in military mode. “I did not know,” he assured her, willing her to believe him. “I had _nothing_ to do with it.”

By the set of her jaw he was not sure if she took him for his word or not. The last thing he wanted to do, however, was air their dirty laundry on deck. “Come along,” he said, leading her by her elbow once more. This time she let him.

James’ cabin was hardly befitting of an Admiral, much smaller than the great cabin, though he’d deemed it less eerie than taking the sleeping quarters of Jones himself. The walls were crusted with barnacles and all manner of sea creatures. Entirely out of place, a wooden desk and two chairs clean of sea-detritus sat in the center of the room, and a cot was fixed in the corner, swaying on its ropes. Recent accommodations made especially for the human admiral, no doubt.

“You look half-starved,” observed James bluntly. “Are you hungry?”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. She was _ravenous_ , but she’d be damned if she admitted it. “I’m _fine_ , thank you.”

He didn’t believe her, but he knew there were more pertinent arguments he would need his strength for. “Would you care to sit?” he offered, waving to one of the chairs in the room.

“Not particularly.”

So, she _would_ be difficult.

With a weary sigh James himself decided propriety be damned, because he was _exhausted,_ and fell down into the larger chair behind the desk. He tossed his hat onto the table, and the ridiculous horsehair wig too. He hated it as much as Elizabeth did, truth be told. It itched and was deuced hot. “So, I see you have achieved your lifelong wish of becoming a pirate captain. Is it everything you dreamed?” he sneered, clearly finding her situation less than desirable.

Narrowing her eyes at him, Elizabeth crossed her arms defiantly. “Actually, its Captain _and_ Pirate Lord, if you must know.” She did not see the merit of admitting she had only _just_ earned the title, or that the Dutchman’s attack upon the Empress had most likely saved her from rape at Sao Feng’s hands. James proved her white knight _again,_ and he didn’t even know it. Perhaps she would keep it that way. She could hardly stand that insufferable smirk on his face after everything else.

“My. You _have_ come up in the world,” he said, waving to her strange attire.

She looked over his own shiny new uniform, and wrinkled her nose. “I’m afraid mustard yellow has never been your color, James.” Casting a skeptical eye about the crusty cabin that smelled faintly of seaweed and rotting wood, she snarked, “And clearly _this_ was worth betraying us all for?”

 _Betraying her_ rang unsaid.

Despite his best efforts, a savage pang stabbed at his heart for her accusation. Annoyed, he tried to bat it away. Hadn’t she made her own bed in this matter? He’d offered her the chance to regain everything they had lost, security, _a life together,_ and instead she’d chosen _this._

_She made her choice._

That was what he told himself at night, when he lay alone and the memory of her warm curves tucked up against him between the sheets came unbidden, haunting him without mercy. That was what he told himself when he imagined what it might be like to die at the tentacles of Jones’ giant squid monster, the crushing force of slimy arms wrapped about you, dragging you to the dark cold depths of the Locker.

“It is a temporary posting, I assure you.” His voice lacked the venom he would have liked to deliver, already growing weary of sniping with Elizabeth Swann. This reunion was a bloody _miracle_ and all he wanted to do was take her into his arms.

“I’m sure it is. As soon as Beckett has had his use of you I’m sure he will see you go the way of my father. You’ve seen too much, no doubt.”

The mention of Weatherby dealt the Admiral yet another blow. The kind old man had been like a father to James, far more than his own father had been, truth be told. The thought that he was no longer of this world left James feeling even less anchored in these uncertain times. “Tell me of your father,” he requested quietly, eyes cast down. “How is it exactly that you said you know…”

Elizabeth sighed, a chill running down her spine. “I killed Jack,” she admitted, winning a look of surprise from the stoic Admiral that almost made the admission worth it. “We went to World’s End to fetch him back from Davy Jones’ Locker. On the way home I saw Father, drifting…” She clenched her fists, willing herself _not_ to cry in front of this man who had broken her heart so _perfectly_ in two. “There was an endless sea of souls who had perished upon the ocean, waiting to be ferried to the other side. It is a task Davy Jones has abandoned in his… _disappointment_.”

“Elizabeth, I am truly sorry. Had I known…”

A sad smile curled the corner of Elizabeth’s full lips. “Had you known… _what_ , James? What could you have done to stop it? You belong to Beckett now.”

“I belong to the _Royal Navy_ ,” James corrected. “Perhaps at the moment I am posted to escort the East India Trading Company, but it will not always be so.”

At this Elizabeth actually laughed. “Indeed? Oh James, you _have_ kept your sense of humor. Tell me another one.”

James clenched his jaw, biting down on a plethora of nasty retorts that he knew he would only regret later. Instead he turned the tables on her, returning to a subject that seemed to make her squirm. “What’s this about you _killing_ Jack Sparrow?”

Of all the people in the world who wanted him dead, it seemed Elizabeth would be at the utmost bottom of the list.

Biting her lip in response, Elizabeth thought on how exactly to word what had gone on between she and Jack. In the end, she was too tired to tell anything but the truth. “You were right about him, in a way, I suppose,” she sighed. “Jack was the Kraken’s quarry, and when the beast came to claim him…I made certain he stayed with the Pearl while the rest of us escaped. Just after we parted ways on the Isle las Cruces.”

Again James’ eyebrows raised high, impressed and even _unnerved_ by her ruthlessness. “And just how did you _make certain_?”

Elizabeth sighed, kicking at a knot in a plank. “I distracted him with a kiss and chained him to the main mast. It was surprisingly easy to do.”

She did not mention that James’ words had rung through her mind at that terrible hour. _Why does Jack Sparrow’s life always come before our own?_ She’d been so angry and so scared that she couldn’t come up with an answer _why_. Only after Jack was gone did she realize she would do _anything_ to bring him back, for reasons she _still_ didn’t completely understand. The world _needed_ Jack Sparrow. Perhaps it really was simple as all that.

James ignored the brittle cadence of her last words, knowing too well that his betrayal had been the cause of her dark state of mind. “And yet you took the pains to retrieve him from his fate?”

A mysterious smile crossed her lips, and in that moment James’ belly _roiled_ with jealousy. “Yes,” she simply answered, not caring to go any deeper into it than that.

James had a feeling that paltry explanation barely scratched the surface of Elizabeth’s emotions regarding the Trickster Pirate, but he let it go. He didn’t really want to know, now did he?

“A grand escapade, I’m sure.”

It was all she ever wanted out of life. More than security, or love, or _him,_ she’d wanted _adventure_.

“Too grand, maybe,” she answered quietly, thinking of her father drifting in his little boat once more. “And the _escapade_ is not yet done.”

A long silence passed between them. When he finally spoke, James’ tone matched hers as he asked, “Is heading a crew of dirty cut throats, living on bad food and in danger of annihilation at every moment really so much more desirable than it would have been to be my wife?” As he spoke these words he found he could not look at her, and so he fixed his gaze upon the wall, particularly on a barnacle that kept opening and closing its crusty maw.

“Being your _wife_ was not what I objected to,” she retorted, some fire returning to her voice, though she was equally unable to meet his gaze.

James sought to cover the unbearable ache at hearing _that_ admission with sarcasm. “Ah yes. It was _the gilded cage._ Because I surely would have chained you to a chair in my absence and demanded you embroider me a hundred kerchiefs a day, or something equally _sinister_.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, and turned her back on James, making a show of inspecting the rest of the cabin. The chair looked inviting, but she would not give him the pleasure. Even more than the chair, the cot beckoned. She could not remember the last time she’d slept, and the berth looked surprisingly comfortable.

“You know _nothing_ of what it’s like to be a woman in society, James. It is a stifling existence at best. After tasting real freedom, I couldn’t let it go. I will _not_ apologize for that.”

“Perhaps I know precious little about being a _woman_ ,” he answered, a thread of heat entering his words. “But I do know something about duty, and honor, and _obligation_ to those I love.”

“Is that what you call abandoning me to the mercy of fish-men and pirates on the Isle las Cruces? I offered you a compromise in those Letters but you were greedy, James. The life of a privateer would not do. You wanted it _all._ I would not heel and so you left to give all the power of the sea to _Beckett_. Do not speak to me of _honor_ or _obligation_.”

“Does the fact that I wanted to see you _safe_ and _secure_ truly make me such a villain?”

She raised an eyebrow, some of her fire fading, seeming quite sad at that moment as she hugged herself against the damp chill in the cabin. “I was always safe with you,” she argued, and the faith she’d had in him would have put him on the ground, had he not already been sitting.

He sounded very tired as he answered, “No you weren’t, sweetheart. We were in danger _every_ moment, and I _knew_ it. The fact that you didn’t …well. I thank you for the compliment of your confidence, but it’s _quite_ a burden to ask a man who loves you to bear indefinitely.”

Elizabeth’s next words came so quietly as she faced away from him that he almost missed them. “But we were so _happy._ ” Suddenly her fists clenched and she whirled, stalking to lean on the desk. She spat, “ I’ve never been happier than when I was with you, James. And you were happy too. Don’t you _dare_ try to deny it.”

For a moment James thought she might come over the desk at him, and he found himself leaning back in his chair before he regained his composure, frowning for this spit of a girl who _unnerved_ him so. As a matter of pure self-defense he countered, “After a fashion, though I fear I would have been as content as a privateer as you would have been as a housewife.”

A bitter smile curled the corner of her mouth. _Royal Navy to the core,_ was her James. He could not shake the ingrained prejudice men in the service felt for privateers, it seemed. Not even for her. “Then it was me or you, eh? There was never any hope for us at all. Just ships passing in the night. How tragic.”

“It doesn’t have to be so,” James found himself saying, attempting for nonchalance and failing grandly. His hands gave it all away, clenching and unclenching upon the desk. “It’s not too late for us yet.” Her bitter laughter struck him like a knife to the heart, making his next words come colder than he meant for them to. “Otherwise you _will_ face the noose,” he assured her.

“You could let us go,” She said it lightly, as though it were a little joke between friends, testing the waters.

It was James’ turn to chuckle bitterly.

“ _Indeed_. Why not throw my career on the rocks _again_ for you?”

Elizabeth shrugged a little. “It’s how you won me last time.”

This time James dared look at her, and she him. When their eyes met across the desk it was like the strike of lightning in Elizabeth’s heart, a jolt that started a slow fire within her, thawing the parts of her soul thought _long_ dead in the frozen cold. She wasn’t exactly sure she _wanted_ to feel these things, and she shot him a hostile look across the table.

Too late, for James saw _something_ in her face. Something he hoped he recognized.

He reached for her hand, his long fingers wrapping around hers.

“Please don’t make me watch you hang, Elizabeth.” She felt so _small_ in his grasp, even now, despite the look of exotic ferocity she wore about her. “It would _destroy_ me. _Again._ ”

The freshly minted Pirate Lord huffed, attempting to snatch back her hand, annoyed by the utter _thrill_ she still felt when he touched her. But James was too fast, his grip too strong.

“ _Elizabeth_.”

“Let me go,” she growled, but he only stood, rounding the table to join her on the other side.

“I _can’t_ ,” he assured her, equally annoyed. “I’ve _tried_. But I can’t let you go. Not in here.” He pressed her hand over his heart, as he had that fateful night in Tortuga, what seemed like a _lifetime_ ago.

“You had no problem on Isle las Cruces,” she retorted, pounding his chest with her other fist none too gently.

He caught her other wrist as a matter of self-preservation; he didn’t really fancy getting punched that night. “The hardest thing I’ve ever done. I thought I would let you make your own choice, but now I think I should have thrown you over my shoulder and taken you with me no matter what you said.”

“Ha! As if you could have,” she defied, pulling at her wrists with a surprising burst of strength.

Annoyed that she nearly freed herself, James put her hands behind her back, trapping her in the circle of his arms. His voice came low, shot through with a thread of heat, “Couldn’t I?”

She flexed against his hold, but he may as well have been made of iron. Elizabeth’s breathing quickened, and it had very little to do with fear. “Not _indefinitely_ ,” she ground out. “Everyone has to sleep sometime, James. Even you.” She was not a woman who could be kept against her will. If anyone, _James_ should know.

Inadvertently his heart quickened for the subtle threat. For some inexplicable reason the thought _titillated,_ and he would never understand this part of himself. His weakness for a woman like Elizabeth Swann, indomitable and _infuriating_. She was the _most_ vexatious woman he’d ever met, and yet for some reason _no other_ would ever do. “I find I can’t believe your heart could ever be so black,” he challenged. “Pirate Lord or no.”

“It would serve you _right_ ,” she hissed, even if she didn’t exactly believe it.

The Admiral sensed a softening of her withering ire, even if just a _bit._ “Perhaps it would.” A small smile curled at the corner of his mouth, and James pinned her against the edge of the desk, winning a gasp that wasn’t exactly fueled by rage.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, though it didn’t come out as hard as she would have liked.

In truth, James wasn’t really sure. But he sensed he was getting somewhere with her, so he persisted, “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I was…angry. _Devastated_. I was convinced yet again that you didn’t really love me. That you had used me. And that I had let you, like a puppet on the end of your strings, _again_.”

Closing her eyes, Elizabeth bowed her head, knowing all too well that his fear was more than justified in regards to how she had treated James in the past. Her voice came as a ragged whisper. “I loved you, you know. Will was a childish infatuation. But you…you made me a _woman,_ James, and I loved you with _all_ my heart.”

“And now?”

And now the sight of him hit her like a fist to the gut, and simultaneously made her want to run into his arms, hide against his chest, and not come out of that steadfast shelter until all the monsters had gone. And she _despised_ that weakness in herself. That desire to let him be the hero.

She wanted to be _her own_ hero.

She was not a princess to be put in a tower. If left in the castle, she would wither and die, like a flower deprived of the sun.

“And now I _hate_ you,” she spat, hoping to save herself from this _embarrassing_ weakness. His long body was pressed against hers and all she wanted to do was wrap herself around him. “So if you would let me go to the brig with the rest of my men, it would be _most_ kind.”

She’d _tried_ to hate him, God knew. She’d been furious of how he’d left her, _left them all_ , taking the heart for himself. And yet after everything that had happened between them…she couldn’t blame him for wanting his life back, and for not trusting her, and for a thousand other things. Only when she’d thought he had a hand in her father’s death did she think it possible to truly hate James Norrington. But she found that she believed him when he said he had nothing to do with Weatherby’s death. She could see it in his eyes.

James did not believe her, of course. He knew her now. Their time in Tortuga had shown him all her flaws, all her thorns. And somehow, her qualities only shined all the brighter for it. Her bravery, intelligence, and indomitable spirit. No longer an idealization, a vague idea of what Miss Swann might be like. _Elizabeth_ was a study in contradiction, a woman made of soft curves but also claws and teeth.

“This would be easier if we could hate each other, wouldn’t it?” he mused aloud. “If we could just be enemies....”

“I am fairly certain we _are_ enemies, _Admiral_ Norrington. I’m a pirate, and you’re an officer of the Royal Navy. And apparently _also_ a cad, which is a new development for you. Would you get _off_ of me?”

She could not _think_ past the _wanting_ of him, with his body so close after so long. She struggled a little more, which really only made matters worse for both of them. James groaned and released her hands, but only so he could lift her onto the desk with hands upon her thighs. He simply could _not_ stop himself from touching her, it seemed.

It wasn’t exactly an improvement—Elizabeth fought not to immediately wrap her legs about his waist and pull him closer to her. James seemed to have the same idea when his hand strayed behind her knee, hooking her leg around his hip as he pressed himself against her.

“I seem to remember you used to like it when I acted the cad,” he mused, his voice now thick with desire. “I certainly never had any luck playing the gentleman with you.”

How _true_ that was.

His weight pressed into her, his large body surrounding hers. Most men she could look in the eye without travail, but she had to crane her neck for James, whether to meet his gaze, or to receive a kiss… It was the latter he seemed to have in mind, and only at the last moment was she able to turn away.

James was not deterred, kissing the length of her neck instead, making her insides _melt._ She had thought she would never know his kisses again, and yet somehow here they were. Fate was a fickle bitch, more often than not, but sometimes she took mercy on the mortals who danced at the ends of her threads.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit _late_ for all this?” She attempted for sangfroid but her words came across decidedly warmer.

“I don’t know,” he answered in a murmur against the base of her ear, kissing the skin there lightly. “For a woman who claims hatred of me you’re making a _poor_ show of it.” His large hand slid into her hair, tilting her head back _just so._ The way that drove her _mad,_ and he knew it too.

It was only then that she seemed to remember her hands were free, and she lifted them slowly, uncertain as what to do with them. A slap could have been dramatic. A shove, perhaps slightly more useful. He waited patiently for her to make up her mind, still as a stone, as though he would accept her decision and turn the other cheek besides.

Finally, she placed her hands upon the golden brocade of his waistcoat, smoothing her hands over his chest. She trembled a little, knowing she lost a little face every moment she couldn’t stop herself from touching him back. “ _God damn you_ ,” she finally sighed. “Will you take off this _ridiculous_ coat?” It was bulky and possessed a ludicrous amount of gold braid, gilded buttons, and of course the Admiral’s epaulettes. She felt she could hardly see _him_ beneath the thing.

He did not smirk or gloat over the victory, a gentle smile curling his lips. “Gladly, my lady.” He shrugged out of the garment and immediately wrapped his arms around her again, his large hands on her waist making her _dizzy_ with want. When he lowered his lips to hers she did not fight him, and he captured her mouth with a kiss that positively melted her bones, his tongue stroking hers possessively. When at last he pulled back he left her breathless, slumped back against the desk as though he’d robbed her of her bones. “ _Marry me_ ,” he demanded, somehow able to invoke the authority of an order into the softness of a whisper. “Let me protect you, Elizabeth. Let me _love_ you.”

“I can’t,” she whimpered, as he leaned down to claim her lips again. “I _won’t._ There’s a game afoot now that is larger than you and I, and I won’t turn my back to it.”

“What _game_? The sanctity of _Piracy_?” he hissed against her skin, his grip upon her tightening uncomfortably for just a moment in his frustration.

“No, James. _Freedom._ It’s the only thing really worth fighting a war over.”

“Freedom is a _myth_ , Elizabeth. Everyone is a slave to _something._ ”

“Indeed? And what are _you_ a slave to, James Norrington?”

“As if you don’t already know. _You_ Elizabeth Swann. The master of my heart is _you._ ”

Her breath hitched as his kisses travelled down her chest, skirting the top of her breast. His strong hands upon her thighs made her dizzy with desire. She fought not to smile as he sent all manners of objects flying to the floor with a sweep of his arm, so that he could properly lay her down. And she fought not to laugh as he frowned down at the closures of her odd Chinese costume, clearly trying to figure out where the devil to start at getting her out of it.

God, how she _loved_ this man.

She knew his every little expression, and even in his arrogance she found him beautiful. What strange magic was love, to taint the mind so. What madness it caused in an otherwise sound judgement.

“Do you really prefer death to _this_?” he asked, sliding her skirts up her thighs, having given up on attempting the knotted cord buttons at her throat. There were short cuts that seasoned lovers could take, and this night he simply could _not_ wait. “To me? To _us_?”

A small smile curled her lips, and she wrapped her legs around James’ waist, pulling him closer. The feel of him already hard and ready against her was enough to make her head spin. She wanted him, _now,_ and didn’t want to talk in circles anymore. “Perhaps I don’t believe you could hang me.”

James gave a frustrated growl as he braced himself to lean down to capture her lips once more.

_Cheeky pirate wench._

Of course, she was right, and it irked him that she knew her exalted place in his heart so well. He hated her and loved her in that moment, and he didn’t understand how it was possible for one woman to inspire such warring and heated emotions in his heart.

He decided they needn’t speak anymore, at least for a little while. As he plied her with kisses his other hand travelled down between them, finding her center already molten and slick with wanting.

At least _that_ part of her could not lie to him.

Without further preamble he undid the buttons of his placket, releasing himself from his breeches. When he teased her with the tip of his head Elizabeth sighed, rolling her hips against his swollen member, straining for more. With the knowledge of a lover who had engaged in this sacred act with her _umpteen_ times before, he _knew_ that she wanted him, and it was enough permission for James to bury himself inside her.

“ _Oh James,”_ she moaned, her head thrown back against the desk. Her sex was so hot and snug about him, and his name on her lips like _that_ …James nearly came right there. But after a few moments he regained control of himself, and began to move, his thumb upon that tender knob of flesh between her legs that made her pant and moan and clench her walls around him. He played her expertly, a virtuoso in bringing forth the most thrilling sensations from her body. Perhaps in this way alone, _she_ belonged to _him._

She said things like _“Please”_ and _“Faster”_ and “ _There, right there!”_ and he followed her direction as though _she_ were the ranking officer in this cabin. She came with a throaty cry, and fascinated he watched her writhe in ecstasy beneath him. Her long legs and strong body wrapped and pulsed tightly around him, and James followed close behind her, spilling his seed deep inside her channel with a mighty groan.

Utterly spent, he collapsed on top of her, their heavy breathing almost deafening in the silence of the cabin. When finally Elizabeth felt she could move she ran her fingers through James’ dark hair, shorn short again so that his wig would fit. She kissed him tenderly, but still said nothing of his offer.

James scooped her up in his arms, carrying her to the hanging berth, where with a little practiced effort they curled up together to doze, swaying with the waves. _Let them find us_ James thought to himself. _Davy Jones kept his heart in a chest. I gave mine to Elizabeth Swann, and she will have it ever more._


	10. Part of the Ship

# X

Later they woke, and it was James who spoke first. “You were right about Beckett. He is a monster.”

Elizabeth did not take the usual pleasure in being told that she was right about something. “The Brethren Court will stop him, James. We will convene at Shipwreck Cove to make a plan. There must be balance upon the seas. No one man should hold all that power. We will scuttle Beckett and Jones both if we can.”

James knew something of the _Pirate Lords_ from questioning captives but could hardly wrap his head about the fact that _Elizabeth_ was one. “You will have to sail _fast_ for the Cove once I release you. No dallying. No excess weight. I will stall here, but there is something _unholy_ about this vessel. It makes time like the Devil himself speaks into her sails. Can you do that, _Captain_ Swann?”

Elizabeth nodded eagerly, the novelty of being called _captain_ still shiny and fresh, and hearing it from _him_ did something _ridiculous_ to her insides.

A small smile curled James’ lips that did not _quite_ reach his eyes.

“But what about you? What will you tell them?”

Wryly he replied, “Surely you do not think I rose so high in the Navy without mastering the art of explaining away a bungled order, my love?”

Elizabeth could not help but laugh, and his use of the latter endearment made her heart swell to the point where she thought it might burst from her chest.

He rose from the berth and went to a basket of rolled up charts, thumbing through and selecting one. He spread it out on the freshly cleared desk, and Elizabeth paused to watch him lovingly. He cut a dashing figure in his shirtsleeves and yellow waistcoat, short hair mused from their lovemaking and eyes bright for the chase.

Perhaps she’d lied a _little_ when she said yellow was not his color.

He beckoned she join him with a crooked finger, and she slid down from the berth, picking her way through the spilled accoutrements scattered on the floor.

“At my last calculation we are here,” he said, pointing out an area of the map. “You need to go this way, and if you take this channel the winds should blow in your favor. It looks longer, but trust me.”

Elizabeth gave James an appraising look, surprise written in her eyes. “You know where the Cove is?”

“Am I or am I _not_ the Scourge of Piracy?” he teased, an astonishingly _playful_ glint in his green eyes.

“Yes but…if you knew all along…”

James let her wonder. The fact was that it was intelligence gleaned recently by one of Beckett’s spies, and thus James had been made privy.

“The Devil’s Throat, as they call the entrance, is not only treacherous but also highly fortified with canon. They can spot a hostile vessel from miles away, and can outwait a blockade almost indefinitely. I would think you may have trouble convincing the other pirates to come _out_ of their fortress to fight.”

“We will find a way.”

Somehow, James knew that _we_ included she and Jack. He wasn’t sure how he felt about _that_.

She was so determined, but also so very _young._ James’ heart ached with the thought of letting her march off to this uncertain fate, and yet he knew now that he could not keep her. She would not stand for it. He could hang her, or he could let her go.

He could _not_ hang her, and so he _had to_ let her go.

 

**XXX**

 

As her crew slipped over the aft of the Dutchman, shimmying down the tow ropes like so many monkeys, Elizabeth turned to James. His face was cast in shadow, so that she could only see the grim set of his mouth. She slipped her fingers into his, squeezing his hand. “You could come with us,” she said. “I wish you would.”

James paid her a crooked smile that tugged at her heartstrings. “I am not a pirate, Elizabeth, as I think you know.”

“A wise man once said ‘Perhaps if on the rare occasion pursuing the right course demands an _act of piracy_ , piracy itself can be the right course.’”

James’ smile widened a little as she quoted Weatherby’s words, and a pang of regret for that dear man’s fate pained him in his guts. “Indeed. But I should stay here. You’ll need a man on the inside, _my Lord._ Now go on, it’s your turn.”

Elizabeth’s lips twisted with amusement. It seemed that James enjoyed her new titles almost as much as she did.

“Who’s there!” barked a gruff voice from the ratlines above.

James’ heart sank to his feet. Discovery so soon would ruin _everything._ Quickly he checked to see if anyone was still visible climbing down the tow line, and thankfully the last Chinese pirate had made it aboard _The Empress_. Quickly he grabbed Elizabeth, tugging her to hide behind a stack of barnacle-crusted barrels.

“Oi! I know I heard someone here,” grumbled one of Jones’ crew members, jumping down to the aft gunwale of the ship. Slowly the crewman looked about, his greatcoat covered in seaweed and coral, constantly dripping upon the decks. It was a man they called Bootstrap, James recognized, and he hoped the man would prove as daft as on their previous encounters.

They held their breaths as Bootstrap came closer to the barrels, peering about. James did his best to tuck Elizabeth under him, making them small as possible in their shadowy hiding place.

Finally with a grunt Bootstrap moved on, talking to himself under his breath. “ _Part of the ship, part of the crew. Part of the ship, part of the crew. Losing it, ye are, ol’ Bootstrap. Part of the ship…”_

Elizabeth dared look up after the retreating fish-man. “That’s Will’s father,” she whispered, her eyes wide with dismay.

“Not anymore, I fear,” said James, and Elizabeth sadly agreed. The magic of this cursed ship did something awful to its crew and its master, making them unrecognizable as the humans they once were.

Elizabeth turned towards James, finding herself nose to nose with the Admiral. “James…when this is all over—”

James pressed his lips to hers, by far his favorite way of hushing her up. He knew what she was going to say. He knew it in his heart—what was left of it, and he just couldn’t stand it. To know it was one thing, but to hear it, now, so soon after… When finally they parted, breathless, he assured her quietly, “You don’t have to say anything, Elizabeth. I fear all along that our destinies have been entwined, but never joined. There is nothing for it, I suppose.”

Elizabeth frowned, and her hand fisted in his waistcoat, pulling him into another torrid, almost _violent_ kiss, her teeth clashing with his as she took him with her lips and tongue. “Daft man,” she hissed at a star struck Admiral. She’d managed to kiss him _silly_. “I was going to say if we survive all this I would _marry_ you, but I suppose not if that’s how you feel about it.” She stood quickly and made her way to the tow line, scaling the railing with a lithesome balance. She poleaxed him so perfectly with her heartfelt admission that James was too late to catch her. She mounted the rope and began to climb down to _The Empress_ without another word, and he dared not shout out to her.

Instead he watched her carefully, waiting until her shadow disappeared onto the Empress before cutting the line with a boarding axe. His body trembled with the adrenaline of the caper, and of course plenty of fear. Despite all that, he couldn’t help but smile a little.

_If they survived…_

They _would_ survive, he told himself. They _must._ They had come _too far._ Despite the impossible odds, if anyone could pull this off, it was her and Jack Sparrow.

“Fair winds, Captain Swann,” he whispered to the darkness, watching the junk’s silhouette fade into the night, and his heart with it.


	11. Hail Hail Pirate King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently I made a blunder. I always thought the quote was "Our fates have been entwined" and I even looked it up on IMDB to confirm it. But I just got a chance to watch AWE again, and he actually says "Our destinies". My bad. I will be changing the title accordingly. :) That said, I hope you enjoy this installment! We're pulling up to the finish line, as it were.

When next they meet she is Pirate _King_ , and James can hardly contain the pride he feels for Elizabeth as he stands beside Lord Beckett, Jones, and William Turner on a spit of a sandbar, attempting to appear unmoved. She holds herself with the bearing of an outlaw monarch, straight and tall and with daggers in her eyes.

He has never wanted her _more._

Beckett killed her father, and for that slight she intended to see him dead. She tells him so in _no_ uncertain terms, and an armada of rag-tag pirate vessels armed to the teeth await to back her word.

Beckett has an armada too, of course, but most of it is just for show.

What looks like an impressive fighting force is actually mostly merchant vessels pressed into this errand, for appearance is all at sea, and filled with men who are not accustomed to the fury of battle. James wishes there was a way to tell her this, but he suspects she will call Beckett's bluff no matter the odds.

However, before they may get on with their war they make a trade: the Whelp for Jack. James sees this for exactly what it is: a way to get The Trickster close to the heart. But Beckett and Jones both thirst so for revenge upon Sparrow that they fail to see the danger. James has learned the hard way not to underestimate Jack Sparrow; they have yet to learn that hard lesson.

As they turn to go James pauses to look upon Elizabeth, for what he hopes is not the last time, but he has seen enough war at sea to know nothing is certain. He affects a sweeping courtly bow, the feathers in his hat brushing the sand. " _Your Highness_." She sees the sparkle in his emerald eyes, and for a moment she allows the smallest smile.

"Admiral Norrington," she acknowledges, nodding her head with all the dignity of a King. There is warmth in her voice; perhaps too much, but such heartfelt emotion is a hard thing to hide even for her. Her hand strays to her belly as she looks upon her Admiral, so tall and handsome in his blue and gold uniform.

All that braid really _did_ become him.

There is _so much_ she wants to tell him, but there is no time and too many ears.

Of course, Jack Sparrow misses nothing, and he flashes a silent look of _ahaaa_ at the Admiral as they turn to follow Beckett and Jones. James glares in a silent plea of _stow it._

Jack, bless him, is if anything a master of anticipating the opportune moment. He will exact a price, no doubt, but not until its worth is at its peak.

As their cox’n steers their launches back towards _The Dutchman_ and _The Endeavor_ a storm begins to brew overhead, the sky turning a malevolent bruised shade of blue black, inexplicably seeming to form only above _them_.

Jack made a face as a fat rain drop smacked into his cheek. “Not good,” he muttered to himself. The wind picked up speed as they climbed aboard the Dutchman, and several hats went flying across the deck.

“What’s going on,” James demanded in a low tone of Sparrow, knowing very well this was no natural gale. A sweat began to form on his palms; he doubted he would ever be able to face a storm at sea again without the cold fear of _doom_ weighing like a stone in his guts.

“Possibly a recently freed Goddess of the Sea,” answered Jack. “And she ain’t the forgiving and forgetting sort.”

James frowned, but enough strangeness had passed on this adventure that James knew better than to doubt such a tale. It would only waste time. “Meaning?”

“We’ll see.”

Sparrow was taken to the brig, and James continued to watch the darkening skies spiraling above. The Endeavor gave the semaphore signal for _give no quarter,_ and the Admiral felt his blood run cold. Jones was all too happy to oblige on that score, and eagerly he gave the order to make sail towards the Black Pearl.

Then it was as though the sea opened up beneath them, a spiraling whirlpool of epic proportion appearing, and Jones the madman sailed _into_ it. James no longer had command of this ship; not really. And so he was not missed when he made his way down to the brig.

Sparrow was still there, seemingly examining the hinges of the door and muttering over his shoulder. James peered closely, almost expecting to see someone else in the brig with the pirate, but no. He was alone, and he was apparently talking quite emphatically to _himself._

The Admiral suppressed a sigh. Somehow, he still knew that Jack was the best weapon they had.

"Dare I venture that you have a plan?" he asked in a low voice from the other side of the bars.

"S’pose that depends on whose side you're on."

"You bloody well know whose side I'm on," James retorted, already exasperated with the pirate.

Jack chuckled in reply, leaning against the barnacle encrusted bars. "It's as though she's the only woman in the Caribbean, innit?" No doubt he thought of the list of her admirers, seemingly long as his arm. Will, James, Sao Feng, Jack himself, even _Beckett_ seemed interested in Elizabeth Swann.

James sighed resignedly. "She might as well be.” For him, she was the only woman in the world.

A long moment passed in which the two men who usually stood in stark opposition of each other shared a moment of mutual understanding. Quite uncomfortable, James changed the subject, “How the _devil_ did she become King?"

"Why, by _my_ humble vote." Jack’s words were smug, but also laced with pride, and something _else_. Something surprisingly close to tenderness, and in that moment James understood that Jack not only coveted Elizabeth, but he _loved_ her too.

"Excellent. There will be no winning an argument with her now," James deadpanned.

Jack laughed, then seemed surprised that the Admiral had managed to inspire his mirth. “Was there ever?” His next words came slightly more serious, his coal black eyes glinting in the low light of the hold. "I would have that heart if you could get me there."

"You? You would take on _this_?" James swept his arm out, gesturing to the decaying tub around them.

"Sail the seas forever? Ain't such a bad fate for a bloke like me." James realized this also meant that Jack had given up on _her,_ and not having to feel that loss…James understood all too well. Jack smiled a sad half smile, then immediately sought misdirection. “So, the charming murderess is _all_ _yours_. And good luck with _that_.”

James raised an eyebrow, but thought better about making a joke of Jack’s death and inexplicable resurrection. Somehow he sensed it might be too soon, and never in a _million_ years did James _ever_ think he would curb his words to spare _Jack Sparrow’s_ feelings.

Suddenly the ship took a drastic tilt, as though suddenly they were sailing on its side. Something unexpected was happening already, and James bit down on the raw thrill of panic that galloped down his spine.

He bloody _hated_ storms.

Both men gripped the iron grate of the brig to stay upright. Holding on with one hand, James produced a key with the other, and freed Sparrow. “I can get you to the chest, but Mercer has the key.”

“Then that will be a step in the right direction,” Jack acknowledged.

They made their way through the sea-life infested ship, approaching the room where the chest with the heart was kept under close guard. Ten Marines stood on guard detail and James knew if he waltzed in with the pirate at his heels things would not go smoothly. “Hide,” said James, shoving Jack towards a darkened alcove. “I’ll be out shortly.”

All too happy to let the Admiral do the dirty work, Jack did as he was told.

The Marines started as James entered the room, scrambling to stand at attention. James suppressed an eye-roll, instead fixing them with a firm stare. “At ease, men.”

They relaxed only slightly, exchanging questioning looks among themselves. “Sir?”

James stepped up to the closest man, a marine named Forester. “Tell me, Mister Forester, and I give you leave to speak plainly. Do you like wearing this?” He tapped upon the silver badge upon his baldric that boldly displayed the EITC insignia.

The marine pressed his lips, then looked to his feet. He thought maybe this was a trap, but James Norrington had a reputation as a fair commander. “Not particularly, sir.”

James nodded, and the tension in the room abated a little. “And you? Do you like it, Mister Burroughs?”

Another shake of the head.

“Me neither,” James confessed. “Last I checked we signed on to protect the King and his interests, not Lord Cutler Beckett and the East India Trading Company. And _he_ is about to lead us into a blunder of epic proportions that will no doubt see us court martialed.” His men visibly paled at the mention of that dreaded proceeding. “So if you do not care to hang by the neck until dead for Beckett’s personal vendettas, I suggest you listen to me.”

Their expressions were _rapt._

“What will we do, sir?”

“We must take back this ship, for starters. I want you all to go topside and wait for my signal. Be careful, we’re sailing through a bit of weather.”

That was the understatement of the century, but the thought of losing _more_ men to a storm left him cold.

“And the heart, sir?”

“Leave it to me.”

In no time, pretty as you please the Marines shuffled out of the room in single file to await Admiral Norrington’s further orders. James turned to the chest, an eerie feeling overtaking him as he gazed upon the ornate box once more. It was almost _pretty_ , and yet its contents were nothing less than wicked. A chill ran down his spine as he touched the lid.

Sensing a presence behind him, he said, “How will you get the key?”

“Already got it, _Admiral._ ” James turned with narrowed eyes to find not Jack Sparrow, but that wicked villain Mercer pointing a pistol in his direction. “I knew you would be the ungrateful sort,” spat the assassin. “Suspected you since your little pirate chit got clean away with _the Empress_. And this is how you repay Lord Beckett’s generosity?”

James turned completely to face Mercer, and ignored his accusation. “Was it you who killed Weatherby Swann?” That was the question that had burned every time he looked at the man, but had never had the privacy to demand satisfaction.

“So what if I did?” spat Mercer. “Some of us know how to obey an order.”

“He was a kind old man who never harmed anyone,” said James, the blackest rage boiling in his belly. He wanted to wring Mercer’s neck with his bare hands for the indifference in his voice as the toady spoke of taking Weatherby’s life.

“That’s not _entirely true,”_ said a voice from the corridor. “He did try to have me hung once.” Jack appeared from the shadows and immediately Mercer’s pistol swung towards the pirate. It was just the window James needed to pull his own pistol, aim, and fire in one smooth action.

He was a dead shot, to be sure, and there was no great surprise when the ball took Mercer directly in the heart. The assassin fell back onto the deck, surprise in his glazed eyes and blood forming a large pool beneath him. James stared at the body, eyes wide, adrenaline coursing through his veins making the world sharper somehow.

“World’s a better place without ‘im, believe me,” said Jack, crouching down to yank free the key from round Mercer’s neck.

James said nothing, same as he felt nothing. No remorse, no regret, no compassion. No relief either though, of the weight of guilt upon his shoulders. _He should have protected Elizabeth’s father. He should have found a way…_

“Are you _coming_?” taunted Sparrow, that grisly appendage now in hand, the open empty chest at his feet. Even Jones’ _heart_ had barnacles upon it.

“In a moment.” James shook himself from his brown study and quickly made to reload his pistol, _powder patch and ball_ , a thing he could have done in his sleep from so many years of practice, before following Sparrow to the companionway.

The _real_ battle still awaited.


	12. Pure Mayhem

_Pure mayhem._

_Every_ sea battle was mayhem, but _this_ trumped _anything_ James Norrington had ever experienced at sea. The howling maelstrom brewed all around them, pulling this unholy ship into a spinning vortex of seawater. It rained so hard one could hardly tell where the sea ended and the sky began.

Jack disappeared into the hullaballoo as they emerged from the companionway, and James looked around to gain his bearings, making a grab for the gunwale as their ship lurched at what should have been an _impossible_ angle. But somehow the forward momentum of the whirlpool kept the ship from sinking into the sea, and the experienced sea captain was only further befuddled as the Pearl came so close that the rigging of their topmasts tangled and stuck.

Immediately the crew of the Pearl began to board the Dutchman, and James called out to his waiting Marines, “To me!” Though they were obviously scared stiff, God bless them for good English fighting men. They conquered their fright and followed their commander into the fray against Jones’ fish-men with fierce battle cries.

The fish-men had become so used to ignoring the human soldiers that the initial onslaught took them by surprise, and several fell immediately.

Then across the deck James saw Elizabeth fighting for her life against a shark-man, the same who had nearly killed her on the Isle las Cruces. She was fierce and beautiful, and making a far better account of herself this round. In the time that had passed since then she had obviously been practicing. James began to make his way towards her, slashing and stabbing and trying not to fall on his arse on the slick deck.

Elizabeth defeated the shark-man with a feint and a blow across the back of his neck that left his hammerhead hanging by tendrils of flesh. She wondered if he would heal from that, but if so surely it would take a good long while. Why did she always find herself locked in battle with supernatural beasties who could not die? What she would give for a _normal_ foe once in a while.

She clashed with another crustaceous crew member, snarling as the thing tried to run her through. She returned the favor, and kicked it away with a triumphant cry. Suddenly there was a clash of steel right next to her ear, and she turned to see Admiral Norrington with his blade bared, having just blocked a sword that was aimed right for her head. “James!” she exclaimed with delight as he routed her attacker, neatly severing the thing’s eel head with a clever backslash. His technique was lethal poetry in motion, every deadly action a thing of high art.

“Your Highness,” he returned with a smirk that made her insides flip.

They stood back to back and took on more attackers, and somehow they managed to simultaneously fight and converse. Elizabeth shouted over the din of the battle, “We must find the heart!”

“Jack _has_ the goddamned heart!” snarled James, blocking a blow and guiding his sword into his attacker’s throat. “What is he waiting for?”

They searched the decks, and it was nearly impossible to make sense of the melee while fighting for their lives at the same time. But Elizabeth spotted their Trickster across the way, locked in altercation with Jones himself. His mouth was moving, _as usual_ , and James wondered if Sparrow had changed his mind and was now trying to negotiate? Had the sight of the Dutchman up close given the pirate a case of cold feet?

“We have to help him!” Elizabeth declared and immediately began cutting her way to Jack.

“Of _course_ we do,” grumbled James under his breath, rolling his eyes heavenward.

Yet even through his annoyance James could hardly blame Jack for his reluctance. Who would want to take on _this,_ forever _?_ To only know warmth and human companionship _once_ every ten years? Inevitably his gaze was drawn to Elizabeth, his longing for her a palpable thing that pulsed and thrummed in his chest, his love for her woven into every part of his very being. He wondered if she would still marry him, after all this was over? How would they live? Where would they go? Nothing was certain, but as she turned to pay him a smile all his doubts were put to rest.

_She loved him._

She loved him and they would find a way.

James caught movement out the corner of his eye, and instinctively he immediately moved to shield Elizabeth’s body with his own.

Suddenly there was a fiery sharp pain in James’ side.

He cried out, and turned to see Bootstrap Bill with a harpoon in hand, part of which was now buried under James’ ribs. “ _Oh_ ,” was all he could manage to say, and his legs gave out from under him.

Distantly he was aware of a scream. _“James!”_ There was a close clashing of metal. Curses and snarls. “ _What are you doing? Will is trying to free you!”_

Voices. Shouts. Loud noises, terrible din, all fading away so quickly.

The iron tang of blood in his mouth.

_Oh no. He had to get up. Elizabeth needed him. This was no time to lie down._

He tried to move his limbs but found them cold and unresponsive. A fuzzy haze began to fill the edges of his vision.

Suddenly Elizabeth was before him, her hands on his cheeks so warm against the chill creeping over him. “James? James don’t close your eyes. Stay with me!”

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth.”

His eyes were so heavy he could hardly keep them open. Maybe he just needed a little rest? A little rest, and then…

“James, I love you! _Please don’t leave me!_ ”

 _I love you._ Such sweet words from the woman he adored. Somehow he managed a small smile through the pain and the cold and the darkness closing in. “I love you,” he said. “I’ll always love you.”

The weight in his eyelids won their battle, and James only felt Elizabeth press her lips to his, and her forehead against his forehead, and her cheek against his cheek. She was crying, and he wanted to tell her not to be afraid, that she was strong and smart and she would always be fine, but he couldn’t speak, and the darkness fell like a curtain around him.

Elizabeth screamed with grief and rage, sobbing against James’ neck. She could taste his blood on her mouth. His flesh was still warm, but he was gone.

_Gone._

The man who had _always_ been there for her was now gone, and she could hardly fathom the reality of it. How was this possible? They were so _close_. So close and they were going to win this battle—they always won, didn’t they? And then they were going to get married and finally be happy and—

She leapt to her feet with a renewed energy. This had to end _now,_ even if she had to stab that fucking heart herself. What was Jack waiting for? Fiercely she made her way across the deck, screaming and slashing as she went, even if her vision was blurred by tears. Time was of the essence. She was certain of that. While the veil between life and death was still thin. Perhaps there would be a way—death seemed such an impermanent fate with this lot, if you had the right leverage, the right map, the right word. If Barbossa and Jack had been given a second chance, surely there was a way to save James too?

When finally she reached Jack and Jones she noticed Will was on the ground, a sword stuck in his chest. One more claimed by this awful battle, but the pang she felt for him was _nothing_ to the violent grief she felt for James. Jack seemed to be locked in a stalemate with Jones, the heart in his palm, a broken cutlass in his other hand. With a howl of rage Elizabeth struck out at Jones, slicing him across the back of his neck, octopus tendrils flying through the air.

Jones made the most terrible inhuman sound and whirled to face her, hatred burning in his beady black eyes.

Then, he convulsed, as though someone had run him through, though no blade showed in his body.

Elizabeth looked down to see Jack had stabbed the heart with Will’s hand wrapped around the blade. The ship began to shudder, and all the remaining fish-men immediately stopped fighting, turning to focus their attention upon Will. As one entity they began to move towards him, ignoring Jones’ corpse.

An eerie chant rose from them. “ _Part of the ship, part of the crew.”_

The currents of the whirlpool shifted and the Pearl broke free, quickly drifting away. But Elizabeth could not stop staring at Will, at the heart. What was going on?

The Dutchman descended further and further into the whirlpool, and it seemed as though the sea would swallow them after all. Jack ran frantically about, gathering ropes and a fallen sail. “Time to go, dearie,” said Jack, pulling her back. “This ship is sinking and we ain’t goin’ with it.”

“I can’t go. James is—”

Jack followed her frantic gaze to the fallen Admiral, who even at a distance Jack could clearly see had life in him no more. “I’m sorry love, but he’s gone. We have to go.”

“No, but—”

“You bloody think he would want you to die too? Hold on to me, we have to go _now_!”

Elizabeth could not think straight. This was _not_ what was supposed to happen! But with trembling arms she latched on to Jack, and as the ship sank beneath their feet a final gust of wind caught Jack’s jury-rigged parachute, lifting them out of the whirlpool’s gaping maw. She wept on Jack’s chest as she watched the cursed ship sink, and the love of her life gone to the depths with it.


	13. Epilogue

Four months had passed since the Brethren’s battle with Jones and Beckett. Four months since Elizabeth last laid eyes upon James Norrington’s face, and yet she could still recall its every nuance with perfect accuracy. The shape of his lips when curled in a loving smile, the strong line of his jaw, his proud straight nose, and the color of his emerald green eyes when they glittered with laughter.

She clung to these details in her memory, praying they would never fade.

She needed them. It was all she had left of him, and she _needed_ those memories like she needed air to breathe.

After all, she was not alone anymore, and the child growing in her womb would need them too. She would want to know about her father. What he looked like, what he’d done in life, how he talked and the things he would say.

How he would have loved her, if he could be here today.

Elizabeth didn’t know why she felt so certain it was a girl, but it was a feeling that refused to relent. Even when Jack knocked on her belly playfully, saying “Hello little bump, how are you today?” and the babe would kick fiercely in response.

Jack would insist that meant the child was a boy, but Elizabeth knew it only meant she was a _Norrington._

The babe would bear her name, but James’ too. Josephine Lydia Swann-Norrington, conceived on the Flying Dutchman, daughter of an Admiral and a Pirate King. What a legacy to inherit. What an unlikely beginning to life.

Elizabeth walked on the beach of Shipwreck Cove, making her daily ambulation of the island. The midwife groused that she needed to stay in her room at this stage and not move about, but now that the morning nausea had passed she longed to wander in the sand in the soft dawn light. She was the Pirate King, and not even the frightening Mrs. Merriweather could tell her what to do.

Somehow, walking in the surf helped her feel closer to James. She wondered where he was. Had he gone to the place where they had seen her father? Did he sit in a little boat and wait for the Dutchman to ferry him across? Across to where, she wondered? No one seemed to know that part. She hoped he was happy, or at least at peace.

She remembered how she had _railed_ at Bootstrap Bill, after all was said and done. The Dutchman re-emerged from the surf and aided the Black Pearl in blowing _the Endeavor_ to flinders. Afterwards she had boarded the Dutchman and searched frantically, hoping to see James among the crew, hoping for the _slim_ chance that Will in his new powers had managed to revive him. But when she’d asked Will had just shaken his head sadly, those soulful dark eyes filled with regret. “I would return him to you if I could,” he’d told her sadly, and even after everything that had happened between them, Elizabeth believed him.

When Bootstrap had dared pipe up about the duties and constraints of the new captain of the Dutchman Elizabeth had flown into a rage and done her damndest to kill him again, and it took three men to prevent her from doing so.

The Pirate King only compounded her reputation as a fierce ruler from there.

But also, a fair one.

_Oh, the plans she had for this place._

With a bit of organization she believed she could take the crumbling bones of this dusty outlaw city and transform it into a wealthy utopia, a rebel stronghold for misfits of every color, a country of their own where all men and women were free and equal, so long as they did their share. The Code was already surprisingly egalitarian, and Teague laughingly offered his assistance where he could. Like his son, the old Code Keeper seemed mightily amused by the ways of the Pirate King.

They had already doubled their fleet by picking off the straggling ships of Beckett’s grand armada. Most turned out to be toothless merchants present just for show, some even going so far as to paint on gun ports to give the appearance of ferocity from a distance when in fact they were simply store ships, filled to the gills with goods. Goods Elizabeth was all too happy to add to the coffers of the Brethren, which she in turn sent to sell in the American Colonies at cut prices, free of the King’s staggering taxes. A tidy little profit had been made. Someday there would be a war there, but until then Elizabeth intended to do business.

Elizabeth wondered what James would have thought of her scheme? Would he have been horrified by her undermining of the King’s authority, or proud of her hard work and enterprise? Probably a mixture of both, she thought with a smile. Poor James had always been at odds when it came to her mischief. Even when she was a girl, a mere brat causing trouble aboard _the Dauntless_ , there had been a sparkle in his eyes as he scolded her.

She touched her belly, running her hands over the taut roundness, marveling that there was a _person_ growing _inside_ her. “Will you run me ragged the same way, little bump?” she asked her child, but received no answer.

It seemed only Jack’s voice inspired the babe to violence.

Elizabeth looked down the long shoreline, thinking maybe it was time to turn back. The sun was rising higher in the sky, she was hungry, and she had to pee. In fact as of late she _always_ had to pee. But something in the distance caught her eye. Something washed up on shore. It rather looked like a _body,_ which of course was no novelty here on an island populated by _pirates._

But her curiosity was piqued, and she had to know. Determined, she marched forward through the surf and the sand. As she neared closer her legs began moving more quickly of their own accord, and before she knew it she was running.

It was a man.

A tall man, with dark hair, in a tattered linen shirt and dark breeches.

By the time she reached him she was in tears, and she fell to her knees beside him. How was this possible? Was she hallucinating? With trembling hands she hauled him over on his back, afraid of what she would find.

But somehow, he was whole, his eyes closed as though he was merely asleep, and her fingers raised to reverently trace the line of his cheek.

He was _warm._

“ _James?_ ”

Eyes flew open, the most _startling_ shade of green.

His voice came rough, as though it had not been used in some time. “Elizabeth?”

The next few moments passed as a blur. She _might_ have screamed, but only in joy. In a flurry of affection she covered his face with kisses, her sobs only increasing as she felt his flesh warm and supple beneath her mouth, beneath her hands. “ _Oh God_ ,” she said, over and over. “It’s you. It’s really you.”

Then she was in his arms, pulled into his lap, and his mouth on hers breathed life into Elizabeth she had not known she’d lacked. Hungrily she returned his kiss, her greedy hands fisting in his shirt and his thick dark hair. Time seemingly stood still, and as they kissed wave after wave crashed over them, soaking them through. Neither cared in the least.

“How is this possible?” she asked when they finally, _barely,_ parted.

James frowned a little, looking around. He had no recollection of his journey, nor did he have a clue where he was. Only that Elizabeth was here, in his arms, and thus all must be right with the world. “I haven’t the slightest,” he finally answered with a sheepish smile.

Then it dawned on Elizabeth.

 _Will_.

Will had found a way to return James to the land of the living.

“I think the Captain of the Dutchman granted us a boon.”

James frowned, still trying to remember. “Jack?”

“No. Will. Will stabbed the heart.”

“Ah.” Somehow, he wasn’t surprised that the Blacksmith shouldered the burden in the end. A trick on Sparrow’s part or a twist of fate, James didn’t care to know. However, there was one question of the battle that burned. “Did any of my men survive?” he asked quietly, as though afraid of the answer.

“Some of them,” she answered. “They got away on the Pearl.” Murtogg and Mulroy were their most baffling new recruits, of whom Jack seemed inexplicably fond.

James looked around, taking in their verdant surroundings. A mountain rose high behind them. “Where _are_ we?” It didn’t look like the beach at Port Royal, and the terrain was all wrong.

“Shipwreck Cove.”

His hand strayed to her waist, and he was surprised to encounter the ripe roundness of her belly where usually there was nothing but flat taut abdomen. When he looked to her with eyes wide with question, eyebrows raised high, she broke into a wide smile and her hand covered his. “James Norrington, may I introduce you to your daughter, or as some of us call her, _little bump_.”

James’ mouth hung open with surprise and wonder, his large hand reverently smoothing in a circle over her belly. As though being reunited with Elizabeth had not been enough of a gift, _a baby?_

 _Their_ baby?

It was too sweet, too _lovely_ to be _real._

“Not so little,” he finally said with a joyous laugh, and kissed her again. “How long?” _Since the battle_ went unsaid.

“Four months.”

She watched as he counted back in his head, and the realization that dawned on him. “On the Dutchman then?”

She laughed. “Yes. After all our manic swiving on Tortuga, you managed to impregnate me after _one little tupping_ on the Dutchman. I hope you’re proud of yourself,” she teased.

His smile was a _beautiful_ thing. “It was obviously the power of the uniform,” he teased back, winning a howl of laughter, and more kisses than he could count.

Elizabeth had _never_ been so happy as she was in this moment, and had _never_ felt so complete as she did in James’ arms, with the swell of their growing child between them.

Finally, with the sun a great deal higher in the sky, Elizabeth said, “Darling, I have so much to show you. Come, let’s go back to the city.”

James pressed his lips, obviously a bit apprehensive of how his appearance would be received in a city full of pirates, but Elizabeth squeezed his hand reassuringly. “You are _mine_ , James Norrington, and therefore you will be welcome. I swear it.”

“Does that mean you are still King?”

“Indeed.”

Why was he not surprised?

They helped each other to their feet, both a little shaky on their legs. With exultant smiles they clung to each other, and Elizabeth put her ear over his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his beating heart. She kept expecting to wake up from this dream, but every second that went by seemed to prove it was reality.

James tilted her face to his with a hand on her cheek, stroking a wild salt-kinked lock away from her eyes. “This just leaves me with one last question, Your Highness,” he said, a seriousness entering his voice that worried her a little.

Elizabeth looked up to him expectantly. _We’ll be fine,_ she told herself. _Whatever it is, we’ll be fine._ She feared he would object to life here, even though they obviously could never return to England or her colonies without running the risk of hanging. Somehow, a pirate island in the middle of the Caribbean was the safest place for them to be. He paused for long enough that finally she prompted impatiently, “ _Well_?”

His lips twisted in a smile, obviously suppressing a bigger one. She did not always take kindly to his amusement at her exasperation. Slowly he dropped to one knee, holding her hand in his. “Elizabeth Swann, my Liege, mother of my child and the most brilliant woman I have ever occasioned to encounter…will you _finally_ marry me?”

All her fears vacated in a sweeping tide, leaving her filled only with fierce joy and singing light. “ _Yes_. Yes of course I will bloody marry you!” she exclaimed, pouncing on this beautifully daft man who she loved with _all_ her heart.

James pressed his lips to hers in the warm soft sand, and between kisses and laughter Elizabeth said again and again, _“Yes.”_

**_The End_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has read and kudosed (is that a word?) and left such lovely comments, I really can't tell you how much I've enjoyed them! They make writing a story like this so very rewarding. Thank you for your support! I hope you liked the ending. I told you I promised an HEA. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> I loved James Norrington in COTBP, but DMC James Norrington really gets my blood up. Haha. I hope you all will enjoy this adventure with me! Thanks for reading, and I cherish your feedback like gold! :D


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